Her Safe Haven
Safe havan
All alone she would sit up in her room. Listening to her parent arguing over her again. How much of a freak she was and a failure to her family. But it ran much deeper. If only they knew the half of it. If they knew that she would cry herself to sleep most nights. The others she would lay wake listening to music. If they new about the cuts all the way up her arm. The razor blades under her mattress. She seemed like a normal child on the outside. Bright colours smile on her face to hide the sorrow in her eyes. The music she would listen to with friend was in the charts. Not the normal ’emo’ music associated with self harmers. She would shrug of the name calling and the shoving she under took in school but it would hurt her deep down. Her release would be her blades. She would feel better after if only for a short while until she felt disgust with the site of her arm. That would then push her to do it again, deeper. It was just a viscous circle.
One night in particular would be the braking point. Her parents were arguing about her grades. How she would never be any good and that it was the other parents fault for being a rubbish mother or father. It was automatic. She didn’t even realise what she was doing. She sliced and sliced until her arm was red. It overflowed onto her bed. She still didn’t realise until she felt dizzy and that her arm was unbearably painful. This didn’t make sense. What was happening. To her horror she realised her mistake. She had gone too deep. She wobbled onto the landing and feel with a thud. She tried calling out but her shouts were too quite for her arguing parents downstairs. Within minutes she passes out and within the hours she was dead.
It was a shock to everyone that a sweet bubbly person could have done something like this. She didn’t fit the ‘stereotype’. But you can never judge a book by its cover. If someone had bothered noticing she was sensitive about her arms. How unhappy she was at home. The sorrow with in her eyes. But everyone was wrapped up in their own busy lives to notice. It was her burden to bare. And in the end she paid with her life.
One night in particular would be the braking point. Her parents were arguing about her grades. How she would never be any good and that it was the other parents fault for being a rubbish mother or father. It was automatic. She didn’t even realise what she was doing. She sliced and sliced until her arm was red. It overflowed onto her bed. She still didn’t realise until she felt dizzy and that her arm was unbearably painful. This didn’t make sense. What was happening. To her horror she realised her mistake. She had gone too deep. She wobbled onto the landing and feel with a thud. She tried calling out but her shouts were too quite for her arguing parents downstairs. Within minutes she passes out and within the hours she was dead.
It was a shock to everyone that a sweet bubbly person could have done something like this. She didn’t fit the ‘stereotype’. But you can never judge a book by its cover. If someone had bothered noticing she was sensitive about her arms. How unhappy she was at home. The sorrow with in her eyes. But everyone was wrapped up in their own busy lives to notice. It was her burden to bare. And in the end she paid with her life.
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