The Silent Killer

The Silent Killer

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WpMetadataReadComplete Wed, Dec 9, 2015<5 mins
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Fiction
Social Themes
Not everything is what it seems. I sit in the corner, huddled and afraid. They try to calm me down, ask me what's wrong. I was running, I'm shaking, completely terrified. They ask me 'did someone hurt you? Your dad, boyfriend?' I nod my head yes to the former. They hurt me irreversibly, it's something I'll never forget. They ask me if I need an ambulance, 'where does it hurt, show me what they did.' I shake my head sadly. I don't need an ambulance, what they did to me is in here. Tapping my head I tell them that they can't fix a thing. What they did wasn't physical, there's no evidence to all this. They hurt me mentally, there aren't any bruises, cuts and marks. ...At least nothing they did to me. The few that are there I did to myself.... Read for more depth.
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"There comes a point where you no longer care if there's a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You're just sick of the tunnel." - Who I am doesn't matter. How I got here doesn't matter. What matters now is I'm getting help, right? That's what they tell me here. They tell me that the road to recovery feels like a terrible butt fuck, but the fact that you're on the path to begin with, is all that matters. So as I sit in this circle of fuck ups, I realize just how different I am from them. I didn't attempt suicide because my mother was a crack addict who didn't want me. My father wasn't abusive. I didn't have a sibling die in a car accident. I was never really bullied either. I attempted suicide because, for the first time in years, I thought I had found something that could make me feel again... and after not feeling much at all for far too long, perhaps I went a bit overboard

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