A/N: Okay, so....this plot is going by so slowly. And I apologize for that.
On with the show! ....Reading! I guess.
(I'M SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN A WHILE) Oh! And TRIGGER WARNING IN THIS CHAPTER!
Read at your own caution!
Eyelids closed over bloodshot pale blue orbs, blinking away the temporary sting of over exposure to the air.
My breathing was so light, the rise and fall of my chest was barely visible if I would look down at myself. But I'm currently absorbed in the uninteresting flickering of discoloured light creating spots of grey on my bland ceiling.
Cautiously, I let my cerulean gaze to dip below my ceiling fan to the painted walls of a faded yellow; not a delightful shade, but somewhat relaxing in a way.
My entire being itched to escape this living hell and disappear to the level of non-existence. But all of that was fantasy. Impossible.
Instead I reached far in front, gripping at the particles of air, only to find myself tearing up at the regret of not blinking once again. It stung. A burning sensation coated the film on my eyes; dissipating as eyelids collapsed over my dry optics again, repeating it a few times.
Before I could grasp coherence on my rapid actions of getting to my feet, all I could see was black. Then red. Then white. And now my room: paper planes and notes scattered on the carpet.
I sauntered to the dimly-lit washroom, sighing as my reflection mocked me in the mirror.
Clutching the hem of my t-shirt, I slid it up, revealing scars of numerous lengths and depths.
Nothing fresh or new, from a year ago mainly. But relapse was still a large possibility; although it was tempting, my entire existence felt numb to the point where it was almost pointless to even try.
I had shredded my wrists so they barely looked like wrists. I used to bandage them and cry into the wrapping, desperate for more release, but instead settled on tears and shaking. My thighs, stomach, and legs were beyond beaten as well.
Purple and blue claimed a huge portion of my torso; gliding my fingers across the soft, delicate flesh.
It didn't hurt anymore. But maybe that was due to the constant numbing of my being.
Another glance at myself, and I whipped the shirt entirely off, it limply lying on the floor tiles in a small heap.
I lost a bunch of weight. I stopped sleeping. I stopped eating. I stopped trying to exist at one point.
My ribs were rather visible, and my hipbones jutted out where my pyjama pants hung loosely. Collarbones were clear and curved.
I ate now. Not much. But I did. I used to not eat for days, and normally pass out because of it. I hated myself. I still do.
Though the difference between then and now is I no longer try so hard. I simply sit in dissatisfaction of my every thought and action, without making an effort to edit my life.
I've stopped trying.
People stopped trying to save me. They lost hope. I still remember the day I was told to go home.
It was 3:13 in the afternoon, I was stuck in the hospital, about to leave.
He told me I hadn't recovered one bit. Told me I probably wouldn't ever recover.
So I stopped trying. To die, to recover, everything.
A/N: SNAC IS BACK! (Sleepless Nights And Choruses) haha....my acronym is fabulous as fluff! ~(•^• ~) (~ •^•)~
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Sleepless Nights and Choruses
Fiksi PenggemarPhil Lester in an insomniac, but also suffering with depression and anxiety. His extremely introverted behaviour causes him to stay indoors most of the time, excluding going to school. He's got his head in the clouds, and can't come down. Star ga...
