The clock has struck 1 at night, and even today, I am wide awake. Tears await just a blink of my lashes to roll down my cheeks. There is no reason for me to cry, but there is this void inside me that demands to be felt.
Every mistake that I have ever made flashes before me only to make me realize how worthless I am, how I am a disappointment to everyone around me. I try to fight it. I try to stop those flashes. But there is only so much one can endure. I am only a human after all. And just like that I lose the fight and with that my hope.
My veins surge with hatred towards myself. Hatred for hurting every person in my life, hatred for being so skinny, hatred for not looking beautiful, hatred for being a dark soul that is beyond saving. With that hatred burning in me, I pick up a special brush. I bring the brush to my wrist hoping to end the suffering once and for all, but I don’t have the courage to push it deeper. So, like always, I dig the brush into the soft skin of my thighs to create a master piece that only I can see. The red color oozing out and the pain drives me out of my misery. I do it over and over till the storm calms.
And just when I think that the storm has passed, a wave of loneliness pulls me down into it’s endless abyss. I am drowning, and there is no one to save me. I can’t breathe. I desperately reach for the surface but the rocks tied to my feet keep pulling me down. I think how good it would feel to stop reaching, to just give up. But my conscience doesn’t let me give and I just sit there and cry, bawl, waiting for the storm to pass. It never passes.
Then, the sun rises and just like that, another night is spent fighting with enemies who dwell within me.