I've always been that good, little girl in school. The 'nerd' . Bullied. Be-friended. Replaced. I thought that was bad, but I never really knew what this terrible life would bring me until now. I was always told as a child "life is a gift, take it for granted." I actually believed it was a gift and tryed so hard to take it for what it was apparently worth, but I must have been a stupid nerd because life's not a gift, its a trap. It pulls you in and you can't do anything but wait for something good to happen. Which is pointless because nothing good will ever happen...

WARNING: This story includes triggering and emotional scenes.


12. Pain

WARNING: This chapter is quite triggering 


The thoughts of self harming flowed through my mind, the more I thought about putting a blade to my skin the more I wanted to self harm. So that's what happened, I ran to the bathroom, got my razor and ran back to my bedroom. 

I felt so glad that they was something to take away the pain. My hands shook as I carefully took the blade out of the razor, I dropped the razor on the floor holding the blade in my hand. My hands shook even more, I closed my eyes, took a breath and... and I did the thing I was probably going to regret for the rest of my life, I cut. Pure, red blood poured out. The scar was at least 10cm and went across my arm. I've got to say the first time it made me scream out in pain but after a few more cuts it was the most best-est thing I had ever done in my life. Cut after cut after cut. The blood dripped onto my bed, drips of blood covered my bedroom floor. The blood represented my pain, every drip. I couldn't stop though, before I had thought about self harm I hadn't done any research. I never knew it was addictive. My arms were soon covered in scars and blood. I stared at the scars. What had I done? The best-est or possibly worst thing that could have ever happened to me, that's what I had done. 

The blade needed to be washed, blood covered every bit of metal. I walked to the bathroom carefully pulling down my selves hiding my misery. 

I washed the blade, watching the blood run down into the drain along with water. Watching every little bit of blood fall of the blade.  

I found a place under my bed were I could hide the blade, so I put it in there. I pushed the box back under my bed and stood up. I felt clueless and helpless. I stared at my room. How would I hide the cuts? 

After about 5 minutes of thoughts of what I had done, I decided fresh air was my best bet. I took my hoodie, ipod and earphones and walked out the front door. As I walked along the path, I stared at the concrete floor, why did God want to punish me? What had I done? I always thought I was nice person, nice to people who are nice to me anyway. I paced around hopelessly like that for 20 minutes and then found a lonely spot in a small forest under a tree. I sat, breathing in the fresh air.  It was around sun set so the air was nice and the sky was pretty. I stared at the sky, thinking about everything bad thing that has happened to me. Soon tears slipped out of my right eye, I took my selves and wiped away the new tears. Minutes passed and I felt presents watching me. I jumped to turn around, I turned my head to the right. Nothing, nobody. I turned my head to the left, just a repeat. Why did I feel like I was being watched when I clearly wasn't? As much as I wanted the peace I left the spot and went home. I was getting creped out. 

I stopped at the door of my home. I heard noises coming from inside. My hand shook as I slowly put my hand on the door handle. I pushed the handle down to reveal a noise coming from the kitchen. It sounded like a frying pan being banged against something? I had to investigate. 

Making as less noise as I could I walked into the kitchen to find my mum rooting around in the cupboard. She seemed frustrated, at something, like she couldn't find something. I was right.

"Where the fuck is it!," She shouted, obliviously not knowing I was there. I felt a chill go through me, I felt scared?

"Um, were's what?," I said trying not to frighten her.

She jumped and turned around to me. " Don't do that Kyla! You'll give me a heart-attack!," I stared at her, with kinda puppy dog eyes.

"I'm - I'm - I can't find the fucking beer!," Oh no, why did she have to get stressed over this? She started rooting through the cupboards again.

"Mum, why don't you lay off it a bit? You know with the beer?," Fuck why did I have to say that. She turned around to me, to reveal her frustrated face. 

"Lay off? Lay off? Kyla you simply do not understand!," Of course I understand what its like to have an addiction to something, how could you be so rude to your own daughter? 

"What?!?," Wait, I accidentally said that out loud, shit. "How could you understand? Your just a stupid little kid who can't get anything right!," I actually felt hurt, a tear tried to leave my eye but I stopped it just time trying to not show I'm weak. 

Then it happened, probably the most worst thing ever. She hit me. My own mother hit me. She had done it before as a child but only when I was being naughty or misbehaving like any mother would. But this was a real hit a real hit as in I hate you. So I did only thing I could do, run to my bedroom.



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