The Broken Key
- Reads 138
- Votes 2
- Parts 2
The key is fragile. Not to be hurt. Not to be touched. But one day, someone snaps the key in half, not caring anymore. The key is now broken, almost impossible to fix. Somehow though, eventually, with the right care, the key will be whole again. It's just at a matter of time. The "key" is me, the "somebody" is the world.
REDOING STORY!! MIGHT BE CONFUSING AT SOME POINTS! JUST STICK WITH ME TO THE END, I PROMISE IT WILL MAKE SENSE. WHY AM I YELLING AT A DOOR AND MY PHONE!? I'M GOING TO SHUT UP NOW!!
There is a hidden meaning behind this story. If you somehow figure it out, pm me.
WARNING: CONTAINS DEPRESSION
IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE DEPRESSION, DON'T READ!!
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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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