This Is How I Disappear

In the dead of night I snuck down the old rickety staircase. I didn't dare attempt this while people were awake. Attempt? Wow, I made it sound like I'm going off on some mission when in reality I'm just sneaking down to get food. I'm so desperate to make myself sound better I have to take the most lame actions and add words like attempt. Just because I have problems with overeating I don't want people to know about doesn't make it nessacary to make everything overdramatic.

I hesitantly flicked on the kitchen light, my heart pounding far harder than it should have been. I hesitated when I reached the pantry door. I tried to reason with myself, saying I hadn't eaten all day. After standing in the white kitchen light for a moment, I reached out and took hold of the first object my chubby fingers came into contact with.

I decided as long as I paced myself it should be okay. One bite and I'd be done. But like always, one bite turned into four, and before I realized it I had scarrfed down ten of the things. I was reaching for an eleventh when I snapped back to my senses. My eyes bristled with tears when I realized what I'd just done.
I tried to tell myself I'd start my diet tommorow. Tommorow would be the day, tommorow would be different. I knew deep down that I would never be able to stop my obsessive eating.

I basically threw myself up the staircase, not really caring anymore if I woke anyone. The damage was already done.
Blinded by my tears, I felt along the walls for what felt like hours, but in reality couldn't have been more than thirty seconds. My hand closed around the handle to the bathroom door. I threw myself inside and slammed the door behind me. My knees buckled and I slid down the door, finally letting the tears fall.

I pulled my knees to my face as my body was racked by sob after sob. I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't stop eating, I couldn't stop being ugly, I couldn't stop anything. I'd tried before, but apparently I couldn't stop living either. My eyes snapped down to my wrist, and through the blur I saw the purple scars leaving me permanatly disfigured. It'd been months since I'd last drug a blade across my skin, what harm could once more do?

I tried to fight the urge, but once I'd thought of it the idea wouldn't leave me. Guilt was raking it's cold, sharp claws down the inside of my stomach. There was a pressure building within my head so intense I was sure any second my head would explode and my parents would wake up to find my brain splattered on the door. The longer I resisted, the harder it got to resist.

Their words rang in my head. Last time someone had found out, I'd been laughed at, shoved to the ground. I remember their jeers and pointing fingers. Between laughs, the ringleader had managed to choke out, "Guys, it's just a fashion statment because he's emo."

"No." His friend has insisted. "It's not a fashion statement, it's a deathwish." His words then had stung. In a way he was right. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't trying to kill myself, but his words just...fit.

Once. I'll just do it once and I'll be done. I stumbled across the room until I found a razor. I stomped on it as hard as I could, probably leaving cuts on the bottom of my bear feet. When the plastic broke apart, I took the thin sliver of metal in my palm. I calmed down slightly now that the blade was in my possession, but it wasn't enough, not nearly. The only thing that would stop this torture would be to drag the blade across my wrist and watch the little droplets of blood well up.
I took the piece of metal between my fingers and inhaled slightly as I pulled it across my skin. My negative feelings were slowly escaping in the form of blood, but I should have known one wouldn't be enough. Just one more and I'll be done. But one more came and went, and then fresh cuts littered my wrists that seconds ago were completely healed.

I couldn't imagine walking back across the hall in this state when I had finished, so I leaned back against the door and let my eyes close. Hopefully I'd wake up before morning, but if not, no big deal. My parents would wake me in the morning. Sleep slowly pulled me under, and I welcomed it greatfully. If only it were permanent.

Notes

Heyyy. I'm sorry I started it out so dark, I just needed to set a mood. It'll get better, I promise.