Suicide
One
It was sometime in the middle of the winter. All the lights were out and she was alone in her bedroom. Except, she wasn't alone. She was never alone. The voices made sure of that.
And so she sat, that cold winter night, on her bed. The day's makeup made a trail from her eyes to her jawline. A trail of black and tears.
Fat, ugly, stupid, disgusting, freak, worthless, loser, were among the many names she went by. The names she detested. The names the voices played over and over, like a broken record, in her head.
She had nothing. She was hopeless. But that night, she smiled. Because she wouldn't have to deal with this much longer.
She picked up the razor and drove it into the flesh on her wrist, pulling all the way up her forearm.
She laid back onto her pillow and waited for the darkness to take her away.
And so she sat, that cold winter night, on her bed. The day's makeup made a trail from her eyes to her jawline. A trail of black and tears.
Fat, ugly, stupid, disgusting, freak, worthless, loser, were among the many names she went by. The names she detested. The names the voices played over and over, like a broken record, in her head.
She had nothing. She was hopeless. But that night, she smiled. Because she wouldn't have to deal with this much longer.
She picked up the razor and drove it into the flesh on her wrist, pulling all the way up her forearm.
She laid back onto her pillow and waited for the darkness to take her away.