Disgust

Just some emotions I have been building up for a while, decided to express them in writing.

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1. Disgust

“I’m going for a shower.”

The warm eyes rose up to make contact with mine but as soon as I felt their brightness, my own sunk down to my sleeves. I self-consciously hitched them up until they covered my hands, two lumps of material clutching an already slightly sodden towel.

“Ok, sweetheart. Shout me when you’re done and I’ll put tea on,” the voice was content and love seemed to shine through her words as she looked at me. If only she knew.

I grunted in response to her and set off for the bathroom. I met my sister on the stairs, in her fluffy pink dressing gown and cow slippers. She grinned at me widely and then pretended to punch me in the face. I flinched away from her, which made her laugh. My face must have darkened because she stopped laughing before sighing and heading down the stairs, raising her eyebrows at my loss of her joke.

I ran the rest of the way up the stairs, looking back to check if the stairway was now empty, which it was. I then went to the bathroom, running the shower full blast before leaving for my room, the bathroom door still open so the sound of running water could be heard all throughout the house. After checking the stairway again (habit) I reached my bedroom where after looking over my shoulder, I dug my hand under the mattress to appear with a box of plasters and a razor blade, clean and sharp, new from the pack, also kept under my mattress. I buried the objects in my hoodie, just in case before going back to the bathroom. Still no sign of life from the stairs. I hurriedly locked the bathroom door, the water still running and stripped down to my underwear.

I stepped in front of the mirror, only to shy away from the figure that stood there. The bulging fat fell off the creature, settling low on its stomach and seeming to have a life of its own, as I breathed, it wobbled slightly. The face bulged the same fat, as did the arms, the legs, everywhere else. The figure seemed to have some form of breasts but the fat overpowered it somehow, making them worthless. Where there could have been a flat, sexy and cleanly shaven vagina stood a lump of fat clearly visible from my underwear. And on my upper thighs and wrists that I could see clearly from the mirror at this angle, sat cuts, deep raw cuts, trying to heal but never being allowed. The skin was white with the sudden contrast of red a shock to all eyes, except the only eyes to see them were mine and they deserved nothing more than to see them, to feel that raw pain and that anger which only came before; when you knew what was to come, what had to happen and after; when the blood ran down your legs and onto the floor and you knew you were pathetic to let yourself get like this, that you weren’t even worth the pain you felt. That you weren’t worth anything.

I stared deep into the eyes of the figure and I couldn’t even recognise myself anymore. The person that stood there wasn’t me, couldn’t be me. I didn’t look like that surely. This was the person I always had been in some sense, the person inside of me.

My eyes drifted away from the mirror and to the shower, I grabbed the blade from the floor and jumped into the curtain of water which fell on me, protecting from the harshness of the world and protecting me from that person in the mirror. She was still here though and it was her hands that drew the blade up and sliced the pale skin that covered my wrists. Her hands that coated my legs in thick red blood and her hands that created this monster of a person that I had become. That I deserved to become. I looked down at myself and was disgusted.

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