You're Beautiful, To Me

I wake up, look at the alarm clock and groan, it's the start of another crappy day of being laughed at, teased, hurt and ignored by those who don't hate me. Basically another crappy day of school. Maybe they’ll physically hurt me today, I don’t know, though to be honest I’m beyond caring. Yeah, it did used to be much worse for me, though I still think I’ve got it pretty bad.
I slowly sit up and swing my legs over the side of my bed, running a hand through my hair. My sleeve falls up my left arm as I lift my hand up to my head, exposing the rigid cuts that cover my forearm, as well as the right one and the rest of my body, I shake my arm and pull my sleeve back up because I don't like seeing the scars even if it was me who put them there.
I know most guys sleep in their boxers but I'm not like other guys in that way, actually to be honest I'm not like any of the other guys where I live in any way. I sleep in large hoodies so I can't see myself or the shape of my body, I've not slept with as many girls as possible that I can lure into my bed - I'm a virgin, I don't go out clubbing or to parties or anything, I don’t spend every minute of my waking life thinking about sex, I'm too sensitive. Oh and I have anxiety and suffer from panic attacks, much to the amusement of the rest of the school.
Basically I'm a fuck up.
I sigh and stand up, slowly walk across my room to the door which leads to the bathroom and enter it, switching on the fan and locking the door behind me. I stand and look at myself in the mirror, the reflection staring back at me reminds me of all the reasons I hate myself.
My hair is jet black, my skin is pale in comparison, my bones stick out although I'm convinced I'm fat and my eyeliner is smudged.
Yes, I do wear eyeliner.
No, I’m not, well, I have no clue if I'm gay. I've never had feelings for anyone before in that way, how am I supposed to love others if I can't even love myself.
I try to push the negative thoughts out of my mind and district myself by cleaning myself up for the day but it only works to a certain degree. My self-hatred is always there, in the back of my mind eating away at what little happiness I have left, fuelling my desire to die.
I avoid looking in the mirror as I leave to go to my wardrobe and extract some black clothes from the black depths that hold no colour. I put them on then return to the bathroom again and stand before the mirror, this time not even bothering to try to look elsewhere. A black-clad, teenager looks back at me, and I can see I that I clearly look sad. Of course that might just be because I know I’m sad. I look like I'm mourning someone who's dead.
Who could that be?
Me of course, I'm already dead inside. I died a long time ago.
I apply more black eyeliner, not bothering to wash off the smudged stuff. What's the point? I don't give a shit, they all hate me anyway.
I return to sitting on my bed and write down my feelings in my journal, they're always the same depressing and lonely quotes, but I use them for writing songs and inspiring drawings. They’re the only things I’m proud of; I can draw really well, I’ve been into art since I was very young and have practiced it at almost every chance I can get for over ten years. As for my voice, well I don’t like speaking to people but I love singing, I wouldn’t say I’m very good at singing, but I don’t actually know because nobody has ever told me I can or can’t – I don’t sing in front of people. I like the music because I feel I can relate to the lyrics, I feel like I’m not alone, it’s like it’s an escape from my head, taking me away from my depression.
I’ve not been officially diagnosed with depression; partly because I’m too scared to go to a doctor, partly because I don’t want anyone to know, and mostly because I’m so far gone that I’m beyond giving a shit. It’s only my life after all. Nobody cares about me; personally I care about myself least of all. So yeah, I’ve never been diagnosed, but to be honest, do you really need a doctor’s note to know you want to die?
I sit on my bed for as long as possible, putting off leaving for as long as possible simply because I detest my school and everyone in it. I look at my clock again and sigh inwardly before getting up and grabbing my bag.
Do I have my jotters and stuff? I don’t know. Do I even care? Nope.
I quietly open the front door to the house and set off for school not even bothering to shout goodbye to my parents, they don't care about me either way so why speak when I could avoid it?
As I walk along the road on my way to hell I reach round into my bag, my fingers feeling for the small bottle of clear liquid I put there previously. I find it and bring it round then lift it to my mouth, my brain revelling in the bittersweet taste of the liquor as it tears up my mouth and burns my throat. I feel it cut a track down my gullet and into my empty stomach where it will cause destruction to the lining and whatever else, I don’t know, I don’t pay any attention in biology. Or any class for that matter, other than art and music. The alcohol makes me feel a little better and I almost smile for the rest of the walk, resisting the urge I get to jump in front of one of the passing cars. I stare at my feet whilst kicking a stone along in front of me, dreading the day ahead.
Yeah, I'm pretty broken for a sixteen year old.

Notes

Yeah this is a Frerard c:
And I think after the shitty chapter names of my last fanfic we can just stick to 'Chapter 1, Chapter 2' etc xD
Anyway please give feedback and all, thanks ^.^