Welcome To My Life

{my story}
So I can let things out. This is me, in my entirety. Welcome to my life.
(True Story)
*may be triggering*

-If you need to talk I'll always be here.-


1. The Start

Becky: I'm sorry.

Me: no don't say that...

I breathed out, taping my fingers against my leg, waiting for a response. I glanced at my homework but that wasn't important. I mean, my best friend wanted to die. How could anything be any more important than that?

Becky: I can't do this anymore. Goodbye. I'm srry

My heart skipped a bit as I realized I had no way to stop her. There was nothing I could do but beg on my hands and knees for her own life.

Me: please. Please, you're my best friend. Don't do this. Please don't.

Read 5:45 pm

I waited for her to answer, then waited some more. But she didn't answer that night.

"Yeah, so works been going well." My dad said over dinner. I nodded but shoved my food around my plate. I wasn't very hungry for some reason. Nervous, I guess. I felt on edge.

"You okay?" My mom asked me, seeing my lack of appetite I ALWAYS had. I gave her a huge smile, showing my teeth.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" I said with a laugh. My mom laughed too.

"Just making sure."

"No," I muttered softly to myself, dropping the razor back to the floor of the shower. "No," I told myself again as I turned off the shower.

"No," I said once more, climbing out and slamming shut the curtain so I didn't have to see it anymore. But why not? An evil little voice whispered. Because I CANT! I told the little voice, but it didn't want to listen to me. It wanted to feed it's hunger.

As I sat in bed, my mind was surprisingly blank. I stared at the scissors across the room, my heart speeding up and slowing again over and over. I slowly crawled out of bed, looking over my shoulder at my door, almost expecting my mom to burst through. But she didn't. I grabbed the scissors, placing them to my arm. I breathed in. I breathed out. I scratched. No blood. No gore. Just a scratch. And just like that I felt tension pick itself off me. Another scratch. Another. And just like that, I was a self-harmer.


I looked over at my phone and instantly typed a reply.

Me: i thought you were dead!

Becky: I'm not.

Yes, well, I can see that.. I sighed softly, lifting back my sleeve to see the scratches scattered on my arm. I dragged my fingernails across my flesh, giving another sigh.

Me: well, are you okay?

Becky: yeah, why?

I slammed my phone down in annoyance. WHY?! WHY?! I didn't trust myself to answer. I quit it with this suicidal recital.

Yet I knew that I could be dying and I'd still jump in to the rescue. Because she mattered. She was a person. She was human. She was like me. I dragged my hand across my face with a low groan. Hell.

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