The End is Easier

School was a nightmare. Bob wasn't here today to protect my ass, so I just had to go with it. The worst that happened was some new kid shoved me into my locker. Probably trying to show everyone that he's "all business" or something shitty like that.
I managed to escape Chris, so that was a thumbs up.
I left a bit earlier than usual.
I was actually home on time.
I finished up some late math and history homework, made dinner, and cleaned up the house.
I felt I had really accomplished a lot by the time my mother came home.
I even made spaghetti for dinner.
I set the table and turned the heat off on the stove.
My mother came home later than I had expected, so the food had to be warmed up in the microwave.
I got two plates and dished out a portion of pasta and sauce for each of us and brought it to the table.
"Thanks for making dinner. It was hectic today! So many new patients and several emergency's."
She took a small bight of her food.
"How was your day dear?"
She put her fork down and looked up at me. She smiled and stared into my eyes.
"Oh you know just the usual.
Nothing special."
No other words were exchanged between me and my mother. We sat there and ate in silence. The occasional cling of someone's fork meeting their plate, but other than that it was quiet.
I finished my food quickly and excused myself to the kitchen.
I rinsed off my plate and loaded it into the dishwasher. I looked at the giant pile of other dishes and decided to do them.
I began to rinse off the other assorted kitchen utensils. I loaded them into the dishwasher as well.
I put one of those little soap cubes into it and turned it to WASH.
There were still leftover dishes that didn't fit in the dishwasher so I filled the sink with some soapy water.
I looked towards the doorway of the the kitchen to make sure my mother was no where to be seen.
I rolled up my sleeves and begun to scrub a pot.
I thought about my appointment tomorrow with Mr.Way
Maybe I could convince my mother to switch my therapist. I immediately brushed that thought out of my head. I don't want to make a big deal about it. She's already done so much for me.
But I really hated Mr.Way. Wasn't there a better way to help me cope with these memory's? Why doesn't he just fucking pump my full of drugs? I mean seriously, don't they have drugs for everything?
I reached my arm down into the soap infested water. Bad idea. I quickly pulled my arm out.
"Fuck!"
I grabbed a towel off the counter and wiped my arm off.
I looked down and saw a couple fresh wounds starting to bleed. Fan-fucking-tastic.
I pulled down my sleeves and walked to the bathroom.
I unwrapped several heavy-duty band aids and put them on the reopened cuts.
I stared down at my arm. I saw purple and light pink scars cover it. I followed a very dark pink one until it became covered by a layer of bandage. I just stared at what I had created. So much detail has gone into each cut. And yet no one knows it but me.
Every line tells a story, every scar has a meaning. I don't want attention. I just need tell myself my own story,
A story that seems never ending.
'Your disgusting. You fucking piece of shit! Look what you've down. Look what you've put you're own mother threw. You don't deserve to live.'
I just glared back at the reflection in the mirror. This happens all the time, I have this long stare with the person on the other side of the glass. Which is always me. Some days I wish it would end up being someone else.
I pulled myself together and walked out of the bathroom. I walked aimlessly down the hall tell I reached my bedroom.
I opened the door and stepped inside.
I mindlessly got myself ready for bed. Pulling off my shirt, taking of my pants, and crawling under the covers.
I snapped of my lamp and closed my eyes. I wasn't even tired but it felt like the right thing to do. I laid in my bed, with my eyes closed for what seemed like hours. I couldn't sleep, knowing that tomorrow I had school and that I also had another appointment with Mr.Way.
I wondered if he would make me talk about my father again.
I shuddered at the thought.
Or if he knows about my cutting.
No one knew about my self harm, except my mother, and Ray. Not even Bob knows. I keep it really well hidden. I always wear long sleeves or a sweatshirt to cover them up.
I also have never shown anyone my scars and self inflicted wounds, besides my mother. Yeah Ray knows, but I've never felt like he should see them. They were a very private thing.
I felt my eyes begin to grow heavy.
I fell asleep to the thought of my own self hatred.

Notes

new update! hooray! comment, rate