The begging (struggles with depression) Warning: this might cause triggers.
Cold drops of rain are sliding down the car window. Pattering on the roof from the fairy like drops. My nose is dripping from the cold. My fingers feel as if I’m wearing gloves made of frost. Tears roll down my cheeks as if in the same pattern of the rain. No words to give just silent breath’s. No body will ask how I am or what is wrong.
The car comes to a slow stop and shuts off. I hide the tears that I’m whipping away as I in buckle my seatbelt. I put my hud on my black knit jacket up. When I opened the car door it was as if the sun had come out just for me.
Upon going inside I while me shoes off. The dragging motion gives my toes some relief; from pressing against the fabric and rubber sole’s for the past 6 months.
I walk straight through the living room and down the stairs to my bedroom at the furthest end of the house. I lock the door behind me. Then take off my Jacket. And sit in front of my mirror for hours while my parents argue about how I never come out of my room. And how I am a burden on the family.
I light some candles and whatch the wick burn. Radiohead is play from my alarm clock. I turn my attention to the clothing on the floor all of which are either too big or far too small. The one pair of shoes I have are worn so much that they’re holes through the fabric to the ground they just really cover my toes at this point. My toes curl up inside of my shoes and the blisters on my heels have become too much to bear. Layers and layers of dead skin that had broken open and bleed. All of my socks were stained red brown. It felt so good to take my shoes off that night.
All of these questions popped up in my head. Why can I never do anything right? What does it take for me to be a better child? Why can’t I ever make them happy? Then my answers came to me. Because your a worthless child. You can’t get better because you were never good in the first place. They hate you because your worthless. You should have never been born you were a mistake. When I looked down there was a blade from a broken razor held between my four finger and my thumb. Warm blood dripped down my wrists. I contemplated sewing my mouth shut. It was the one thing that always got me into trouble anyway.
That wouldn’t have helped the voices in my head though. So I continued on. I did my school work. Then took a shower and ate dinner. I got ready for bed as I always do. Laying there contemplating love and if I would ever find it. I rarely ever slept. I would be up until midnight and wake at 5 am everyday to go to school.
This morning was different it was odd. When I woke up I was wearing a white dress. It was the dress the my cousin wore to prom before she committed suicide. My face was covered in makeup like I was getting ready to go somewhere nice. I had scratches all up and down my back. My hair was curled and placed up. I didn’t know how this had happened and I assumed I had just been depressed. My Name is Sally and I was 12 years old.