I Have A Secret

I stormed in the door and threw my backpack down when i reached my room. I was so fed up. I needed to be alone. I needed something sharp. I took a tiny pair of scissors and locked myself in the bathroom.

I put the seat down and sat on it, holding the silver scissors in my hand.

"Did I really want to do this?" I thought to myself, "Yes."

I opened the scissors, took the sharpest end and put it against my skin. I ripped across my skin as fast I could. I felt the pain, it was there. But it felt so good. I kept repeating it until I had more than a dozen marks on each arm.

I sat in the bathroom and cried. Cried my eyes out. I was scared. I did this everyday. I was afraid someone would find out. If my mother found out I would be so grounded for the rest of my life, and she would never leave me alone.

I thought about what I just did. I couldn't believe I could just hurt myself like that. It felt so good. It was like pain had no boundries and now pain felt pleasurable. I didn't know what I would do to myself. I couldn't keep doing this. Someone would find out.

After my wounds stopped bleeding I came out of the bathroom and found my wristbands and put them on. I would have to wear them for a while so no one would notice my scars.

I grabbed my iPod, blasted my music in my ears and grabbed my art folder and started to write poems.

When my mom called me down for dinner, I came down the stairs slowly. When my mother asked me what was wrong, I said nothing and picked at my food. When dinner was done, I sulked back up the stairs and quickly fell asleep listening to my heartbeat and staring at my scars.