When I lose myself, I break into a thousand pieces, god only knows where I still am...
(ooc: Yes, I did make her do this. Because, dammit, she needs help. And I can't do it right now. I'm too stressed.)
{OOC: This is a triggering post for some people and contains mention of self injury. It is adult content, please read at your own risk. Thank you.}
There are times when too much is crashing down around your head, and you're left feeling drained. This is the place where Rose is at. She's incapable of wrapping her head around everything that's happened, and is continually fluctuating from complete chaos to being totally numb. Feeling unsafe and out of place in her own room, and lonely with the tension that's been running high, she can't sleep and finds herself slipping out of the Tower with a jacket and her bag.
Wandering the streets at night isn't safe, she knows, but there isn't much else she can do. Finding herself a fairly well concealed nook, Rose lets her back thump against the wall, and slides down to sit on the ground, pulling her knees to her chest. In a city like Chicago, the beat of the city doesn't fade when the city goes dark, and watching happy people wander by, be they happy by nature or happy by chemical abuse, Rose just can't stand it.
Digging into her bag, she feels her hand slip across the cool metal of her razor. She'd gotten it not too long ago, though she can't even remember why she'd gone out of her way to get it. Pulling it out of the bag, she slips it open. Part of her mind knows that she's cold, but Rose can't feel it. She can't feel much of anything in fact, and it's driving her to the brink of insanity. Drawing her small arms into the safety of her hoodie, she grips the razor tightly.
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Rose feels out an easy place to cut...Across her ribs, easily concealed. Pressing the blade into her skin, she makes one, and then two and then three, four, five...six, seven, eight.
New place...Reach around herself, and now the blade is against her shoulder blade. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen. Switch to the other shoulder. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
Eighteen and nineteen, an X over her heart. Twenty, across her stomach.
Hissing in pain, and tears slip down her cheeks, to soak her hair and her hoodie. Packing her blade back up, sliding her arms out of her sleeves, she drops the blade back into her bag. Grabbing it up, she slings it over an arm and winces. Gritting her teeth she strikes out, walking the city streets.
{OOC: This is a triggering post for some people and contains mention of self injury. It is adult content, please read at your own risk. Thank you.}
There are times when too much is crashing down around your head, and you're left feeling drained. This is the place where Rose is at. She's incapable of wrapping her head around everything that's happened, and is continually fluctuating from complete chaos to being totally numb. Feeling unsafe and out of place in her own room, and lonely with the tension that's been running high, she can't sleep and finds herself slipping out of the Tower with a jacket and her bag.
Wandering the streets at night isn't safe, she knows, but there isn't much else she can do. Finding herself a fairly well concealed nook, Rose lets her back thump against the wall, and slides down to sit on the ground, pulling her knees to her chest. In a city like Chicago, the beat of the city doesn't fade when the city goes dark, and watching happy people wander by, be they happy by nature or happy by chemical abuse, Rose just can't stand it.
Digging into her bag, she feels her hand slip across the cool metal of her razor. She'd gotten it not too long ago, though she can't even remember why she'd gone out of her way to get it. Pulling it out of the bag, she slips it open. Part of her mind knows that she's cold, but Rose can't feel it. She can't feel much of anything in fact, and it's driving her to the brink of insanity. Drawing her small arms into the safety of her hoodie, she grips the razor tightly.
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Rose feels out an easy place to cut...Across her ribs, easily concealed. Pressing the blade into her skin, she makes one, and then two and then three, four, five...six, seven, eight.
New place...Reach around herself, and now the blade is against her shoulder blade. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen. Switch to the other shoulder. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
Eighteen and nineteen, an X over her heart. Twenty, across her stomach.
Hissing in pain, and tears slip down her cheeks, to soak her hair and her hoodie. Packing her blade back up, sliding her arms out of her sleeves, she drops the blade back into her bag. Grabbing it up, she slings it over an arm and winces. Gritting her teeth she strikes out, walking the city streets.