Cracks in the Sidewalk

He sits up in his bed, trying to relax. He knows he should be getting ready to sleep, but he just can't. He's too awake, and that's never a good thing. He looks around the room, desperate for something to distract him from his thoughts. His knife is on the desk. His eyes catch it, the light reflects off the folded blade, the whole thing seeming to glow with a knowledge of what it's caused. He can't look away, so he walks over and picks it up. he starts flicking it open and closing it, over and over and over and over again. It calms him, knowing he's holding his knife. He feels the blade-still sharp enough to split a hair. He likes it that way. He's always kept it sharp...the cuts didn't hurt at first, but the pain crept up on him. He liked it more this way, felt like he could manipulate his body. It's nice for him to feel like he can keep something in control. He looks at his arm, at his scars, and a fleeting thought runs through his mind. For a second, he misses how the blade feels on his skin. He shakes the thought out of his head, and looks to his computer. He needs a healthier distraction.

I meet some kids, Shawn and Mike, on the bus to Mountain Creek. I go snowboarding with the school every friday; it provides a nice distraction, and it's something I'm actually kind of good at. These guys are really cool, and I hang with them at T-bowl after snowboarding and on saturday nights sometimes. Mom wouldn't like them-they smoke cigarettes and Shawn smokes and deals a lot of pot. They're really cool guys though, and they make me feel like i'm accepted with someone. I can hang with them in the hallway, or walk to the bowling alley with them after school since I have work most days. I tried a cigarette with them last friday, it sucked-not something I'd be interested in. Mom tells me that I shouldn't hang out with kids like them, but I don't see what the big deal is-we have stuff in common, and I like them.

A few months pass by, and I meet her-Sabrina. She's the coolest girl I've ever met. She listens to all of the same music I do, she's in half of my classes, and best of all, she shares my dark secret. She corners me at my locker one day after school, and just hugs me. When I ask why, she said "I think we both know why" and brushed her hand along my arm. It is the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a while now. We start hanging out...a lot. My friends joke around and ask if we're dating. I say no, but pray inside that we could. I never work up the guts to ask her. I know what she'll say, and I agree-I don't want to ruin a friendship that close. We tell each other everything. She sticks with me through everything, and she's always there for me when I need her, and vice versa. It's refreshing to have someone to comfort me, someone who cares if I show up to school and I have a new scratch or cut on my arm that I half-assedly chalk up to working on the machines at the bowling alley. She's my best friend, and I hope we'll always stay as close as we are right now.

He's sobbing again, he hates that. Crying is for the weak, and he needs to be strong. She doesn't think he's strong, and he knows she's getting tired of him depending on her as an emotional crutch. Crying shows her how he feels...shows her how close he feels to wanting to cut, wanting to feel something other than how much he misses her or guilt for interfering with her life. He hates crying, and hates how he feels right now, and whenever he gets upset like this. He can't seem to ever find something positive about himself and stick with it, which he also knows she hates. He wants to feel normal. He knows that this isn't normal. Normal people don't sit up writing silly stories on the computer, wanting to hurt themselves, crying themselves to sleep every night, sleep with a teddy bear at 19, or hate everything about their own existence. He's not normal, and he can't stand that. He picks up the knife, rests it against his skin, feels the cool, soft steel on his arm, and his hand shakes. He's sobbing past the point of reasonable control, and he drops the knife. He gets up, puts it on his desk, still open, and collapses on his bed, sobbing into his already soaked pillow. The worst part? This doesn't seem abnormal to him at all.