Status: One shot.
Scars
Scars
I look down at my scars. Old ones, new ones. Each one has its own story. They keep telling me that I'm not worth of living in this world. A family disappointment, a total zero in school and nothing to my friends who slowly, one by one walked out of my life. Because they knew I'm not worth it.
I'm not worth of living in this world.
I keep looking down at a shiny razor which is waiting to cut through my already damaged skin. I make a cut. Deeper and harder than ever before. I feel a sharp pain with left my soul as soon as the razor touched my skin. It travelled through my arm. To my fingers, through my hand and straight back to my shoulder. It continued through the whole body.
I don't care. It seems almost kind of funny.
I get up from the floor and slowly walk to the bathroom so I can repeat the routine of cleaning my cuts. I go back to bed as soon as I manage to stop the bleeding.
It's been a tough day.
I sleep through the alarm next morning so my mother has to come into my room and wake me up. I can't remember the last time she did that.
She picks up my dirty clothes from the floor and finds a t-shirt covered in blood. I get a flashback of last night and the deep cuts I made. I feel sharp pain in my arm as I think about it.
``Sam, why is your t-shirt covered in blood?˝
I snap back at her. ``Oh so now you suddenly care.˝
``What is that supposed to mean? Did you try to hurt yourself?!˝ I don't answer. I look through the window and stare at the green trees. She doesn't say anything either. She grabs my arms instead and pulls up the sleeves of my sweatshirt. Her face turns green and then white. She looks like the even forgot to breathe. Like she didn't see that coming.
``Why?˝
``Because.˝ I don't want to tell her anything. She should've thought about that months ago.
``We've always been so good to you. We buy you everything you want. We drive you anywhere you want. Why?˝
I didn't want to talk to her. ``I have to go to school.˝ I got up and walked to the bathroom. She stopped me. ``You're not going anywhere except to the hospital. You need help.˝
``I need help? You don't talk to me for months and now I need help? I have to deal with everything by myself. You never ask me how's school, am I in love, do I need help with anything! And now I need help? You should be lucky I'm even alive after everything you and dad have put me through.˝
My little speech made her cry. The iron woman who never puts a smile on her face is crying. ``I want to help you Sam. You have to let me help you.˝ She begged me to go to the hospital with her. I agreed only because her begging and crying made me sick.
*
One week later
I have to stay in this stupid hospital for at least a month. And even more if they don't see any progress. They think I'm crazy and they treat me like I'm stupid. They want me to 'open my heart' to them. I don't want to do that.
I'm so f*cked up nobody can fix me anymore.
*
Three weeks later
I still don't talk to anyone but this new guy who came here about a week ago. His name is Matt and he's dealing with similar shit as me. We spend all our time together. I feel like he helps me much more than all those group and individual therapies.
He listens to me.
I feel butterflies flying around my stomach every time I see his bright face and his perfect smile. I can feel myself getting better thanks to him.
But I know the scars will stay just to remind me that I'm a disappointment.
I'm not worth of living in this world.
I keep looking down at a shiny razor which is waiting to cut through my already damaged skin. I make a cut. Deeper and harder than ever before. I feel a sharp pain with left my soul as soon as the razor touched my skin. It travelled through my arm. To my fingers, through my hand and straight back to my shoulder. It continued through the whole body.
I don't care. It seems almost kind of funny.
I get up from the floor and slowly walk to the bathroom so I can repeat the routine of cleaning my cuts. I go back to bed as soon as I manage to stop the bleeding.
It's been a tough day.
I sleep through the alarm next morning so my mother has to come into my room and wake me up. I can't remember the last time she did that.
She picks up my dirty clothes from the floor and finds a t-shirt covered in blood. I get a flashback of last night and the deep cuts I made. I feel sharp pain in my arm as I think about it.
``Sam, why is your t-shirt covered in blood?˝
I snap back at her. ``Oh so now you suddenly care.˝
``What is that supposed to mean? Did you try to hurt yourself?!˝ I don't answer. I look through the window and stare at the green trees. She doesn't say anything either. She grabs my arms instead and pulls up the sleeves of my sweatshirt. Her face turns green and then white. She looks like the even forgot to breathe. Like she didn't see that coming.
``Why?˝
``Because.˝ I don't want to tell her anything. She should've thought about that months ago.
``We've always been so good to you. We buy you everything you want. We drive you anywhere you want. Why?˝
I didn't want to talk to her. ``I have to go to school.˝ I got up and walked to the bathroom. She stopped me. ``You're not going anywhere except to the hospital. You need help.˝
``I need help? You don't talk to me for months and now I need help? I have to deal with everything by myself. You never ask me how's school, am I in love, do I need help with anything! And now I need help? You should be lucky I'm even alive after everything you and dad have put me through.˝
My little speech made her cry. The iron woman who never puts a smile on her face is crying. ``I want to help you Sam. You have to let me help you.˝ She begged me to go to the hospital with her. I agreed only because her begging and crying made me sick.
*
One week later
I have to stay in this stupid hospital for at least a month. And even more if they don't see any progress. They think I'm crazy and they treat me like I'm stupid. They want me to 'open my heart' to them. I don't want to do that.
I'm so f*cked up nobody can fix me anymore.
*
Three weeks later
I still don't talk to anyone but this new guy who came here about a week ago. His name is Matt and he's dealing with similar shit as me. We spend all our time together. I feel like he helps me much more than all those group and individual therapies.
He listens to me.
I feel butterflies flying around my stomach every time I see his bright face and his perfect smile. I can feel myself getting better thanks to him.
But I know the scars will stay just to remind me that I'm a disappointment.