this is what living like this does.
Undeclared prettygirl, what happens when the cutting turns into gashing? And not the kind of make up gash that so many like to practice across grimaced faces - the kind where the skin is so broken you can see where the veins lie beneath and there is no scab over the cut because its too deep and its too wide and it just stopped bleeding 20 minutes ago, after a long day sobbing into a tube sock I wrapped and safety pinned around my thigh.
Let’s revisit this morning. Mother storms into bedroom, demanding phone because the bill is so high. Storms into room with naked girl on her bed, leaving her with no room to cover the broken thigh. Mother dearest doesn’t see; thank goodness, because she doesn’t want to see. Lovely daughter makes a storm path of her own into the bathroom, where she takes a shower. She picks out a tune on her leg like she has done too much lately, with the razor as her tool and the leg as her instrument. She puts the razor down, washes hair, and stands there, wishing for the day to be over already, please be over already. She picks up her tool again, for one more lasting effect, raises her arm, and slashes harder and faster then she intended. Blood pours, and when pours is said, it is less then an exaggeration. The water beneath her feet turns dark pink, dark dark dark pink, and she tries so hard to stopper the blood flow. She sees for the first time what she is capable of - her own fucking demise. Struck by something she hasn’t felt in a long time - pain (what she was searching for) she reaches for something, anything to grab onto. Something that she can believe in - something she knows won’t fail her. She finds a toothbrush and a loofah and collapses onto the floor, a pool of her own watered down blood. She wraps a tie-dyed towel around her leg, and that cant even stop the appearance of forbidden blood stains. Pain Pain Pain with every step today, punishment for being a fucking disappointment in every way. She wishes her parents would just yell and not use that fourteen-letter word that spells out FAILURE better.
For once, I am at a loss for words. What I never thought I would do, ive done. Ive fucked fucked fucked it all up. I’m a fucking disappointment and I can honestly say it would probably be better for my parents if I just weren’t here anymore. Fuck my good qualities. Fuck my future. Fuck my face. Fuck my lack of love. Fuck my mistakes. Fuck my idea of what hunger is, and then realizing its emptiness. (One year ago today, my mummy dearest told me to slit my wrists in the bathtub and not in my room, so she wouldn’t have to clean up a terrible mess after I’m gone.)
And seriously, my thigh right now is the scariest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Its open and puss filled and has little rivers of blood dripping down and dried from it. Its wide and its horrible and it scares the shit out of me. What if this was commonplace? What if I found myself laying the in bathtub with this on my arms and no more blood leaving because it’s all gone.
Who the fuck would miss me?
It would be so much easier if I just weren’t here.
Let’s revisit this morning. Mother storms into bedroom, demanding phone because the bill is so high. Storms into room with naked girl on her bed, leaving her with no room to cover the broken thigh. Mother dearest doesn’t see; thank goodness, because she doesn’t want to see. Lovely daughter makes a storm path of her own into the bathroom, where she takes a shower. She picks out a tune on her leg like she has done too much lately, with the razor as her tool and the leg as her instrument. She puts the razor down, washes hair, and stands there, wishing for the day to be over already, please be over already. She picks up her tool again, for one more lasting effect, raises her arm, and slashes harder and faster then she intended. Blood pours, and when pours is said, it is less then an exaggeration. The water beneath her feet turns dark pink, dark dark dark pink, and she tries so hard to stopper the blood flow. She sees for the first time what she is capable of - her own fucking demise. Struck by something she hasn’t felt in a long time - pain (what she was searching for) she reaches for something, anything to grab onto. Something that she can believe in - something she knows won’t fail her. She finds a toothbrush and a loofah and collapses onto the floor, a pool of her own watered down blood. She wraps a tie-dyed towel around her leg, and that cant even stop the appearance of forbidden blood stains. Pain Pain Pain with every step today, punishment for being a fucking disappointment in every way. She wishes her parents would just yell and not use that fourteen-letter word that spells out FAILURE better.
For once, I am at a loss for words. What I never thought I would do, ive done. Ive fucked fucked fucked it all up. I’m a fucking disappointment and I can honestly say it would probably be better for my parents if I just weren’t here anymore. Fuck my good qualities. Fuck my future. Fuck my face. Fuck my lack of love. Fuck my mistakes. Fuck my idea of what hunger is, and then realizing its emptiness. (One year ago today, my mummy dearest told me to slit my wrists in the bathtub and not in my room, so she wouldn’t have to clean up a terrible mess after I’m gone.)
And seriously, my thigh right now is the scariest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Its open and puss filled and has little rivers of blood dripping down and dried from it. Its wide and its horrible and it scares the shit out of me. What if this was commonplace? What if I found myself laying the in bathtub with this on my arms and no more blood leaving because it’s all gone.
Who the fuck would miss me?
It would be so much easier if I just weren’t here.