they say people with depression see in black and white. they're wrong. but not far off, not exactly. it's hard to wake up in the morning. all of the colors i used to see have changed and faded out - almost ghostly.
i miss my colors.
the simple tasks i have to do - washing my face, brushing my teeth, just simply getting up in the morning - feel no longer needed. like repeated chores.
i've become harmful to myself. breaking my soft skin until i am nothing. just simple ashes beneath a bouqet of flowers in a graveyard.
i don't remember the last time i was happy, when i was really, truly happy. but fortunately, i remember how it felt. the smiling, the laughter, the memories, the simplicity of it all.
oh, how simple life used to be.
"i'm so tired of all the rain this year," mom says.
"i don't mind it much," i reply, wrapping my hands around my hot chocolate. mom always made the best hot chocolate, even if she buys the packets from walmart.
after school, i can't find my phone anywhere. i manage to get to my therapy session without directions, and eventually walk back home safely - so far. as i walk home, i find my phone on one of the benches outside. i start to wonder how it got there, and who would've put it there. when no one crosses my mind, it vibrates. i check who it is, and the name says michael clifford.
i check what the text says :
hi unity :D
at first i don't reply, but as i continue walking, the memories flood back to me. michael clifford is one of the seniors at my school. i've seen him walking around.
i reply :
how'd you get my number?
michael takes his sweet time writing back. and eventually, i'm at the porch of my house when he finally responds.
cal found ur phone by the steps outside. i put my number in, and here we are ^_^
calum in one of michael's best friends, i suddenly remember.
why did i find it on the bench? i ask.
u always sit there before school. i figured you would see it :)
damn, this kid uses a lot of emojis.
no prob. see u @ school tmrw. night <3
i'm on my living room sofa reading heart of darkness, a book for my ap english class. and that's when it happens:
the phone rings.
oh, the horror.
the living room phone is one of those old school, non-wireless connected phone with a spiral cord. so basically, it doesn't have caller id. which is fine, because no one really calls, but i keep telling mom that eventually, one day, it'll be a problem.
when i pick up the phone to answer, i hear nothing.
"hello?" i say.
a rough, deep man's voice fills the silence, and i recognize the voice immediately.
"unity?" the voice says.
my dad has been in prison for the last seven years for doing god knows what. he always said he'd call, always said he's write. but as soon as he walked into that damn jail cell, i knew he's never come back, nor hear from him again. until now, that is.
"where have you been? do you know what you've done to me, to mom? she's screwed, that's what. i can't believe you, seriously."
"unity, if you let me just explain-"
"no dad," i stop him. "it's been seven years, okay? you said you'd contact me, but you never did. you can't just- you shouldn't walk away-"
"unity, i'm sorry," he raises his voice.
"listen to me," he interrupts. "i've had the chance to call you so many times, i swear, but i.. i didn't. i couldn't bring myself to talk to you. i felt too ashamed..."
after a few seconds, i finally answer.
i sigh, "what did you do?"
"i can't say."
i snap, "god, dad, do you know what a wreck we've been without you? all these years without a dad.. i deserve to know, ijat? i want to know the one reason the police kept you away from me for seven years. at least give me that. please."
"please, say something. i even started to- i have-" i can't do it. i can't tell him. about my cuts. no one can know, ever. not mom. not him.
dad replies with a worried voice, "what, unity, what did you do?"
i start to tear up. don't cry now, unity. not now.
i sniff, "tell me what you did first."
behind dad's voice, i hear a woman - probably one of the prison guards - saying that he's out of time. i'm not sure what to feel.
the last four words in 7 years i hear my dad say is this :
"i love you, unity."
and he hangs up.
when i get to my room, i sink down to the floor. i try to tell myself that it's not worth it, that they blades are only a metal thing that won't cure anything. i fight hard not to cut again. but my brain and my body is in war. my heart, the victim.
i scrunch up my hair and kick the walls and lay in my bed, whispering to myself, "it's okay, it's okay." i can't help but cry, the tears flowing down, hands covering my face. cry me a river, they say? i could surely do that.
and eventually - i really don't know how - but somehow, i am standing in front of my bathroom sink. i take a look at myself in the mirror, disgusted at what i see. my short, wavy silver-dyed hair stands completely still. my pale skin has almost healed from the cuts. the cuts left scars on my arms and legs. my face, however, is completely clean.
time to move the battle to a new territory.
i'm so caught up with the spears that i don't even lock the doors. i cut a slanted line on my cheek, underneath my eye. i slice a short one my by cheekbones. my hands move to my wrist, and i make three cuts. one more. i could end it right now. i can't.
soon enough, i am bleeding everywhere, but i don't care. and somehow, someway, the blood rushing through my veins.. it felt good.
and just when i start to feel relaxed, when my cutting reaches to its climax..
the door opens.
the title of this story is from the song 'this is gospel' by panic! at the disco. (amazing band, i definitely recommend them). i've written the first five chapters for this story already in my notebook. this is probably the deepest, most depressing story i've written so far, so i'm putting in a trigger warning. if you're not comfortable with cutting and everything else, please don't bother reading. also, thanks for 100 followers ^-^