Smiles and Tears

By day she smiled through all the pain, but when night came around, she was unrecognizable. She cut, she starved herself, and many more things no one wants to see or hear. She calls out for help, but no one comes. At least until she realizes that help isn’t so far. But before you read this, I must warn you there are going to be quite a few trigger warnings. So read if you dare… I guess.

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Streaming Down Like A River
The pain returned. Not like it ever went away, for some reason, it seemed to get worse at night. I was alone at night, no one to talk to. Maybe all of the fake smiling did make the pain fade away? …Not likely. Sure, at home I had my parents… if they even cared about me anymore. I just feel like a waste of money, time, and effort to them. I felt useless, a burden. Just in everyone’s way. I’m lost. Alone. Maybe even dead. I just want to know when it will end. I just want to die already and wish the best for the next generation.

 I went into the bathroom, shut and locked the door behind me, took the scissors out of a cabinet and started to tear it across the skin of my wrist repeatedly. It hurt, no doubt. But that’s why I loved it. I was slowly getting closer to dying. Little by little. I will get there, even if it’s slow and painful, I will get there. To end these cuts, to end the starving, and to end the pain I’ve been hiding for so long. Though tears were streaming down my face from all the internal and external pain, I was still smiling. I was almost gone.

Not to be remembered except by the rivers I cried.

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Helpless Help
I didn’t sleep that night. I just stayed awake, lying on the bathroom floor. It was cold, but soon turned warm as my blood stained it, ruining the perfect, clean white color. I sat up, not knowing when my parents would wake me up to get me ready for school. I quickly grabbed a long piece of toilet paper and wiped up as much of the blood as I could, not wanting my parents to know what I’ve been doing.

Afterwards, I cleaned off the pair of scissors I used the night before and put them back where they were before. I looked in the mirror, my eyes were bloodshot with bags under them from the lack of sleep. My hair was a mess, I hadn’t brushed it in a week, it was only getting worse from all the bloodstains and lying on the floor.

 I opened my mouth, and decided to brush my teeth, something I hadn’t done in two weeks. As soon as I started, my gums started to bleed, leading to more pain. As much as I enjoyed it, seeing my own blood and feeling the pain, I should probably stop, I don’t want my parents to see that I’m not up to date with my ‘personal hygiene’. Because apparently my looks are more important than if I’m alive or not. Whatever. Let’s just see what they do when I’m DEAD. I hope they realize what a mistake they made. Creating me, and not even taking proper care of me! Just thinking of it filled me with rage. But I decided to forget about it… for now.

I inspected the bathroom, checking for any signs they’d find out what I’ve been doing. Sighing of relief, I rolled my sleeves back down, hiding that, too. I unlocked the door and opened it, followed by me walking out. I turned to the direction of my room, ready to just move on with my day. I almost did, too. Until I saw my mom blocking the way to the door. She grabbed my sleeve, making me worried she would pull it up to reveal the secret I’ve been hiding for so long. But instead, she pulled me in the opposite direction, where the living room was. My mom practically threw me into the couch seat, followed by her and my dad sitting in the one across from me. I was completely ready to make up lies for the blood and tears in the bathroom. So I waited for one of them to start asking questions.

“So, um, I’ve noticed that you haven’t eaten in awhile, are you feeling okay?” My dad asked me. I almost wanted to laugh in his face. After everything I’ve gone through, he’s worried about me eating? I hoped that my mother would care a little more than him.

“You’ve got me and your father worried, are you sick? Or is there something you want to talk about?” She continued. I shook my head, not thinking either of them were ready to hear the truth.

“Alright, if you insist… but if you need to talk to any of us, we’ll always be here for you.” My mother added. I nodded, but inside, I wanted to tell her how wrong she was. They didn’t care, why would they? I’m the biggest mistake of their life. I discarded the thought and started to walk out of the living room. Their idea of help was useless. It was all just helpless help.
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No One Really Cares
I went to my room again, except this time, no one stopped me. I got dressed into the first clean outfit I grabbed and spent a minute looking into a mirror. I glared at my reflection and scoffed, as if it would get offended.

I continued to think of things to do to pass the time and make my parents think I was actually doing what I was supposed to. I went into the bathroom and inspected the scissors once again. They almost looked spotless, I smiled, almost genuinely. I was getting away with this.

It pleased me to know that no one would know what happened. No one would be able to tell my story and spread it to the world. No one would ever understand why I would constantly hurt myself. No one knows how much pain I’m in, neither will they. I looked into the bathroom mirror and inspected my hair, it was a complete rat’s nest, which was currently long enough to reach my elbows. I pulled back my hair as if I was going to pull it into a ponytail, but instead, I picked up the scissors and cut most of it off, now not even long enough to reach my shoulders. I put on one of my very few hats to hide the top of my head. Now no one would talk about how messy my hair is.

Not like I cared, I just didn't like people talking to me, for either good or bad reasons. I left the bathroom and put on gloves, even though it wasn't remotely cold outside, some of the bloodstains would travel to my hands… and I obviously don’t want people to see that.

I completely hide everything about myself, but this isn't anything new. It all started so many years ago. I can barely remember the details of it, but the feelings were crystal clear. I just wanted to die that day.

It all started in third grade, sure, nothing really bad happens in third grade, but it was worse than what most little elementary students are willing to handle. The bullies told me everything bad about myself. From the way I sneezed to how I looked and acted. They told me I was stupid, ugly, annoying, selfish, and helpless. They had completely destroyed all of the ego I had built up… was gone. It would take countless years to get it all back.

But once I got home from school that day, I didn't eat or sleep. Then I walked into the kitchen and saw my mom’s butter knife on the counter, I was curious, so I picked it up and slowly pulled it across the skin of my upper arm. Then I remembered how people in the movies would cut their wrist instead. I did it again and again. My blood rapidly dripped onto the carpet. I didn't even notice the pain. I just wanted it to keep coming. For the blood to continue dripping, for the pain to keep coming, for the life of me to end quicker. I just wanted all their cruel words to end with me.

But before that could happen, I had numerous flashbacks of me enjoying my life with the very few friends I still had. I wasn't ready to give it up just yet. I put the butter knife away after cleaning it. I took a paper towel, got it wet, and started to clean my cuts. I thought maybe I should give life a second chance. Just maybe. But the disappointments came back, the tears continued to fall, and the blood would start to be revealed and drip once again. The pain never went away, it would just hide and come back, because deep down in my heart, I knew that no one really cared.
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