The Only Way I Know
A Letter from Hell
I stared at the folded piece of paper, unsure if I wanted to open it. I swallowed before hastily opening it, staring at the familiar handwriting in shock. It was short but sweet.
Dear Jamie,
I don't know where to begin. First - let me tell you how much I love you and your mother no matter what. It was blown out of proportion that night...
I blindly tore up the letter, feeling the tears well up in my eyes. I didn't care what it said. I never thought I could hate my dad. But that seemed to be the only emotion I was feeling now. Anger and hatred surged through my veins. How could he love us if he caused so much pain?
How dare he, I thought angrily. How dare he think he can write to us and pretend all is well...how he thinks he loves us. How I'm going to forgive him. He ruined my life. He forced me to move to this shithole in the first place...
The same thoughts spun around in my head, making me feel ill. I never knew what pure hatred felt like until now. And it was horrible. As though you wanted to watch them die painfully, make them feel the pain I had felt...
Once the letter was torn into tiny pieces I threw it in the bin. I never wanted anything to do with him again. I sat on my bed, staring at thin air, unable to move.
My mum didn't bother me for the rest of the night. I lay in bed later that night, my earphones shoved in my ears with music blasting loudly. How could I feel so much pain at once - but on the inside?
I got up in a daze, only knowing one thing I wanted to do. It was dark outside, the streetlights filtering in through the window. I heard the odd car pass down below on the road.
I opened my desk drawer.
I thought I was better than this. That I was above this. That I would never sink so low...
I pulled out the scissors once again. Razor sharp, they glinted in the eerie glow cast by the light outside. I felt a tear slip down my cheek as Jesus of Suburbia began to play. I lowered the scissors closer to my wrist.
3...2...1....
I cut away at my skin. I gasped as a trickle of blood slowly slipped down my arm. The cut was tiny.
I sighed, feeling better as the emotional pain dripped away through my own blood. I had thought I would never sink this low. The blood soon clotted, leaving a small dry line of blood on my arm.
I felt so much better now. I wiped the scissors and hid them back in the draw and climbed back into bed. Just as I closed my eyes I heard that familiar gentle tone...
Dearly beloved are you listening?
I can't remember a word you were saying...
Are we demented
Or am I disturbed?
Dear Jamie,
I don't know where to begin. First - let me tell you how much I love you and your mother no matter what. It was blown out of proportion that night...
I blindly tore up the letter, feeling the tears well up in my eyes. I didn't care what it said. I never thought I could hate my dad. But that seemed to be the only emotion I was feeling now. Anger and hatred surged through my veins. How could he love us if he caused so much pain?
How dare he, I thought angrily. How dare he think he can write to us and pretend all is well...how he thinks he loves us. How I'm going to forgive him. He ruined my life. He forced me to move to this shithole in the first place...
The same thoughts spun around in my head, making me feel ill. I never knew what pure hatred felt like until now. And it was horrible. As though you wanted to watch them die painfully, make them feel the pain I had felt...
Once the letter was torn into tiny pieces I threw it in the bin. I never wanted anything to do with him again. I sat on my bed, staring at thin air, unable to move.
My mum didn't bother me for the rest of the night. I lay in bed later that night, my earphones shoved in my ears with music blasting loudly. How could I feel so much pain at once - but on the inside?
I got up in a daze, only knowing one thing I wanted to do. It was dark outside, the streetlights filtering in through the window. I heard the odd car pass down below on the road.
I opened my desk drawer.
I thought I was better than this. That I was above this. That I would never sink so low...
I pulled out the scissors once again. Razor sharp, they glinted in the eerie glow cast by the light outside. I felt a tear slip down my cheek as Jesus of Suburbia began to play. I lowered the scissors closer to my wrist.
3...2...1....
I cut away at my skin. I gasped as a trickle of blood slowly slipped down my arm. The cut was tiny.
I sighed, feeling better as the emotional pain dripped away through my own blood. I had thought I would never sink this low. The blood soon clotted, leaving a small dry line of blood on my arm.
I felt so much better now. I wiped the scissors and hid them back in the draw and climbed back into bed. Just as I closed my eyes I heard that familiar gentle tone...
Dearly beloved are you listening?
I can't remember a word you were saying...
Are we demented
Or am I disturbed?