I Feel Nothing

Another rain drop fell from the darkly lit sky, falling onto the windshield. It was sliding and the smaller rain drops were falling victim to the superior rain drop as it enveloped them, causing it to become bigger and more powerful. I felt sympathy for the unfortunate drops who never escaped the clutches of the larger one. I feel like I was one of the unfortunate ones, being enveloped by darkness, something bigger than me; something I couldn’t control. Instead of it being a simple rain drop, it was my sickness, my depression. It felt to me like the little ones could have felt scared, alone, worthless, like nothing they could do could ever help them, to save them.
That’s how my sickness makes me feel, all the time. Also, it feels like chains are pulling my self-esteem down to the ground, to the point where I feel nothing. I have no control over my body; this evil inside of me has taken over.
No one knows, about what I do. No one knows the simple, intentional thing I do to make it seem like I have control, to makes it seem I’m still alive. It helps me know that I’m not just a walking corpse, that my soul isn’t detached from my body. Its something I know many people practice, I heard about two million people try to make themselves feel better with this self-inflicted act. Its simple, some people just do it in different ways, but what I do is, I practice self-mutilation or in other words I practice cutting.
“Gabby” whispered my mother.
I looked up and saw streaks of smudged eye-liner running down her cheek, the trails of the tears that escaped her eyes. Her blonde hair was scattered in frustration, and she looked wild.
“Yes, mom,” I whispered back, ashamed. Bumps on the road made my voice shake, and I was worried she thought I was crying. I felt mad at my mother. I don’t want to give her the satisfactory feeling that I feel guilty for hurting her, even though my guilt is eating me up inside. In honestly I didn’t want to hurt her, I just wanted to hurt me.
“The hospital is only a couple seconds away. If there’s anything, you wish to tell me before you’re admitted? Please, Gabby, tell me why. You don’t have to tell me anything else, just tell me why.” Her driving was slowing, I bet she was thinking that I was going to tell this long, sad tale about how I feel, and she wanted more time for me to get it all out. She wanted me to tell her before we arrive at St. James Hospital.
“I can’t.” I simply stated. Some of this was a lie, I could try to explain how I feel, but in reality it would be quite difficult. I know how I feel, since I was thinking about it only moments before. I just can’t seem to explain to her, I’m afraid they’ll judge me I guess.
I thought about the moment she caught me, how everyone suddenly found out about what I do to myself.
I was in my room, my iPod was connected to my speakers and I was playing music as loud as it could go. I sat at my window seat looking about my window, feeling the same as I usually do. I must have sat there for more than an hour just watching life pass by me through the comfort of my window.
I was feeling empty and I felt almost like I physically wasn’t there. The sun sent rays of light through my window, shining onto my desk. A glimmer and sparkle caught my eye. I found the razor I’ve used plenty of times before, and I carelessly placed it upon the skin on my wrist. I pushed down softly and rushed it across the width of my wrist.
Blood slowly seeped through the opening I forced into my skin. I winced a little at the small amount of pain, but I over all felt a satisfaction. I felt my best when I did this, when I practiced this.
I turned around to get a paper towel in the bathroom, which was connected to my room. When I turned I dropped the bloody razor upon the floor, and was greeted by the horrified face of my mother, who stood only a few steps away. She started shaking her head, and reached her arm out to my and forcibly grabbed the arm I injured and stared. She looked into my eyes, and I looked into hers. Her eyes were getting red, and tears were falling over the edges, just like the rain fell from the sky at this very moment.
“Why?” is what she asked me first, after that, a series of questions came spilling out of her mouth:
“How long has this been going on?”
“Where did you learn to do this?”
“How could you?”
I knew what she meant by the last question, how I could hurt her like that. I knew how she felt, like that she wasn’t a good enough parent to help me in any situations that need to be dealt with, like I didn’t feel comfortable talking to her about things, instead of doing this to myself. I hope she realizes that even if I do feel a satisfying and powerful feeling of relief, I still feel ashamed afterwards I still feel guilty. Like I said, I never wanted to hurt her.