"Little Boxes on the hillside little boxes made of ticky taffy"
The fan above my bed span, almost endlessly while the music blaring from my laptop kept my mind from darker thoughts, kept me from remembering the pain emanating from my leg.
It's weird, when you grow up you never think that this is how you'll end up, this time five years ago i probably thought i was going to be moving on to college or something, the shit grades stopped that from happening.
To drive the nail into the proverbial coffin, all around me friends are leaving left and right, off to school, off to different countries to learn different languages and meet new people and here i was stuck in my room.
"And they all play on the golf course and they drink their martinis dry"
The self harm came as a bit of a shocker too, depression is something that sinks in slowly, it sneaks up on you and all of a sudden you have to wear jeans all the time to hide the scars. It wasn't even about the pain, like, some therapists say that the reason people hurt themselves is the rush of hormones and chemicals that come up, like a rush of dopamine, like a drug that all the sad boys and girls get used to.
With me it wasn't pleasure, it wasn't even the pain of the matter, it was seeing those fucking scars on my leg and knowing that i deserved every single one of them.
"And boys go into business and marry and raise a family"
Looking up in the ceiling became almost a hypnotic out of body experience, it was almost as though i was looking down at myself from the ceiling.
"Ad they're all made out of tickyn tacky and they all look just the same"
My phone rings, i push myself up and grab it off my side table, my friends on his way. I grab a pair of jeans and put them on, hiding new glaring red lines, and i shut my laptop lid.