Don't Forget Me
Chapter One
My name is Alec. I am fifteen years old with parents that are still married, and an older sister. Many people think I have a great life, that I have everything I could ever want. A lot of people, believe it or not, envy me. It all started to happen when I was almost halfway through my freshman year of High School. I walked the halls with a smile, a smile only some knew were fake. Why fake a smile? Because people worried about me more than they should.
I swore to everyone that I was okay, because I was, honestly. I just had one little problem. I craved blood. Yes, I had a fetish for blood. I don’t know if it was the way it tasted, or just the thought of it, but I craved it- I needed it. Which was a plus for when I self-harmed. It didn’t really hurt, I swear. But the lies that people told me, they would build up. I had no way to take my pain out. I didn’t talk to my parents much about stuff that bothered me. I had just gotten over a horrible break up, filled with lies… It invaded my mind, I had nothing to go to. All my friends said were, “Sorry.” And, “It will get better.” But sorry couldn’t bring him back. And it didn’t get better…
I went to one thing. And that was taking it out on myself. I felt so alone, like I had done something so wrong. I kept asking myself, “What did I do to deserve this?” And scars, they don’t go away. I learned this the hard way. The first place I had cut was on my stomach, where no one could see. After that, I switched to my upper thigh. I did this because when I wore shorts people wouldn’t see. In one night, 13 cuts and his name carved into my now ruined skin.
When I grow older, what will I tell my children? What will I tell the person I marry? If I told anyone, they would think I was insane. So I told only the people I trusted… They were worried more than ever. I promised them that I wouldn’t do it ever again. I also learned that promises were meaningless. So I did it more and more. I hate to say that, it became a habit that I couldn’t break….
I swore to everyone that I was okay, because I was, honestly. I just had one little problem. I craved blood. Yes, I had a fetish for blood. I don’t know if it was the way it tasted, or just the thought of it, but I craved it- I needed it. Which was a plus for when I self-harmed. It didn’t really hurt, I swear. But the lies that people told me, they would build up. I had no way to take my pain out. I didn’t talk to my parents much about stuff that bothered me. I had just gotten over a horrible break up, filled with lies… It invaded my mind, I had nothing to go to. All my friends said were, “Sorry.” And, “It will get better.” But sorry couldn’t bring him back. And it didn’t get better…
I went to one thing. And that was taking it out on myself. I felt so alone, like I had done something so wrong. I kept asking myself, “What did I do to deserve this?” And scars, they don’t go away. I learned this the hard way. The first place I had cut was on my stomach, where no one could see. After that, I switched to my upper thigh. I did this because when I wore shorts people wouldn’t see. In one night, 13 cuts and his name carved into my now ruined skin.
When I grow older, what will I tell my children? What will I tell the person I marry? If I told anyone, they would think I was insane. So I told only the people I trusted… They were worried more than ever. I promised them that I wouldn’t do it ever again. I also learned that promises were meaningless. So I did it more and more. I hate to say that, it became a habit that I couldn’t break….