Sometimes the way we express pain isn't always healthy |
As I splash my hands around in the water I can’t help but think they don’t want me as their daughter. I guess I’ve been too quiet for a little too long. Gone out too many nights, done too much wrong. They ignore me now as if I’m invisible. I don’t care anymore! This life isn’t livable. I get no freedom, I get no respect. I know it all, I have a huge intellect. I’m so depressed and why can’t they see what their rules and curfews are doing to me? They make me go places and do ‘family things’. When all I want is to grow my own wings. Enough rambling on and on This is my life right or wrong. I grab a towel and get out of the tub I almost slipped on the terry green rug. Just then my mom bursts in She looks pale, fragile and empty within. She falls to her knees and screams and cries. I ask her what’s wrong but, she pushes me aside. It was only then that I saw what she was crying about. There in the tub was a lifeless body, no doubt. The girl was limp, floating in the tub with crimson waters that resembled blood. This couldn’t be real! The girl looked like me! I screamed at my mom, “I’m here! I’m okay, look at me, please!” I wasn’t serious, I was just cutting to relieve pain. This was my little secret, my own sick game. Cutting was my only refuge, my only friend. I never imagined it would lead to the end. |