I went back to my house from the long day at school, and immediately ran up to my bedroom so I could cry silently under my comforting blankets. The warmth made me feel alive, because I actually felt something. I just wanted to stay there forever. I didn’t want to move.
All I wanted was to disappear under the covers, and to never be found again. Everything would be fixed that way. But that was not going to happen. I wouldn’t just be able to disappear into thin air.
I had to be dead in order to be gone. My heart needed to stop its pointless beating. There was no reason to pump blood through my veins and arteries that were soon to be shredded once again.
What was the point of trying anymore? It was only a matter of weeks before I was gone. I would make sure of it. No matter how many times I failed, I told myself I would be successful eventually, regardless of the cost.
I picked up my blade, looking at the blood stains embedded in it. I closed my eyes, and did what was natural. I dragged it slowly across my thigh, causing myself as much pain as possible. It wasn’t effective anymore, as the numbing feeling was now normal to me.
I looked down at the trail of blood, and didn’t feel satisfied. I sank the blade into my skin once more, deeper, and harder.
It wasn’t even releasing my emotions anymore. Yes, seeing the blood felt nice because I knew I was being hurt, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough damage to my worthless body.
I needed more. I had to wait until the weekend though, so I didn’t draw suspicions by missing school. No one could know how weak I was. I’m surprised I even let Will in. It was a horrifying thought, knowing how people would react when I killed myself.
Those are just some of the things I would be remembered as, if I was even remembered. Why would anyone remember me in the first place, let alone cared when I was gone? I was just the ugly, anti-social, weird girl. Nothing more.
People didn’t want to be my friend. They just wanted to walk all over me. What was the point, anyways? There is no reason why I would have friends. I mean, they see my face. That’s enough to make them run in the other direction.
While I was thinking of all of these things, I was subconsciously cutting myself. I didn’t even notice until I looked back down at my excessively large thighs. Red. Smeared all over them.
I pressed my hand against the fresh and deep cuts. I then sat with my head resting on my hands, leaving a bloody handprint on my forehead. This was the moment when I felt real. I wasn’t that fake girl who smiled and laughed all day at school. I was truly me in that moment.
I went to the bathroom in order to take a shower to wipe the hardening blood off of me. I turned it on, and put it at the highest temperature I could. I slowly stepped in, feeling my skin burn as the water hit it. The hot water stung the cuts. I gripped my leg in pain, releasing it seconds after.
“You deserve this pain, you horrid creature. Look at all of the trouble you’ve caused with everyone. All you ever do is mess up. The least you can do is take this slight pain like a man,” my head screamed at me. There was no getting away from the madness I called my thoughts.
There was no escape other than leaving this cruel world. Maybe, if I wasn’t in it, it wouldn’t be cruel anymore. It would be a happy place with no terrible people or thoughts.
If I was gone, everything would be perfect. I just had to wait until the weekend to fix all of the mess I had created. Only three more days until the weekend. Only three more days until I got to leave this hellhole. Only three more days until the worlds biggest burden was gone.