Categories > Original > Drama
Slipping Away
0 ReviewsA true story. Could be triggering. Written for Self-Injury Awareness Day.
Tomorrow is Self-Injury Awareness Day. I have never self-harmed, but my sister did once, and it was horrible. She's lucky to be alive with how much blood she lost. She's still recovering nearly a year later. This is the story of what happened when she finally awoken.
The first thing she saw when she woke was a bright light, shining in her eyes as though she was looking at the sun. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, opening for a few seconds every so often to get used to it. Eventually she was able to handle it and opened her eyes fully. She tried to speak, but no words came out. That’s when she became aware of the two women in white leaning over her.
“Can you hear me?” A kind-looking woman in her late twenties asked. Not being able to speak, the girl gave a feeble nod.
“Sweetie, there’s a tube in your throat. You’re going to have to cough so we can get it out. Can you do that?” Another woman, this one in her forties, asked of her. The 19-year-old in question obeyed, and even though it hurt to do so, she continued coughing until the tube was fully out of her throat. Someone handed her a plastic cup full of water, and she accepted gratefully, reveling in the feeling of the cool, refreshing liquid running down her dry, scratchy throat.
“Can you tell us your full name?” She heard the first woman ask.
“C-Callie L-Lea S-Sanchez.” She stuttered. She saw the young woman look to her right, as if looking for confirmation. She became aware of a familiar voice whispering the word “Yes”.
“Can you sit up for us, Callie?” The second woman asked. Callie attempted, and although it felt as though her arms were weighed down, she managed to pull herself up.
“W-Why do my arms f-feel weird?” She asked. She stuttered less as she got used to talking.
“Look for yourself, sweetie.” The older woman said. She looked down at her arms and gasped.
“What happened?!” She exclaimed, almost panicking at the sight of the scars littering her arms.
“We don’t know what you did, Cal. What we want to know is why you did it.” That familiar voice spoke up. She looked to the right, and visibly paled at the sight of her baby sister. Charlotte would have never been caught dead crying. Even at their mother’s funeral, she refused to let a single tear run down her face. So why was she sobbing now, with eyeliner running down her face like a sad clown’s makeup?
“I-I did this?” Callie gasped, looking at the scars again. Now that she wasn’t freaking out as much, she could see the scars were clearly self-harm marks.
“Yes. Why, Callie?” Charlotte asked of her older sister. In her head, Callie replayed what she remembered now.
She remembered how she had developed bulimia after her mother’s death, thinking to herself her mother wouldn’t have died if she wasn’t so fat, as stupid as it sounded. She remembered stepping on the scale, barely even weighing 80 pounds and still only seeing nothing but fat in the mirror. She remembered literally eating everything in the pantry, eating and eating until nothing was left. She remembered heading straight for the bathroom, feeling guilty for eating so much. She remembered grabbing her razor blade off the vanity, watching it gleam in the bright light before ‘punishing herself’ for eating so much. She remembered not stopping there, though. She remembered practically obliterating her arms, but not feeling satisfied, dragging the silver blade across her legs, hips, abdomen, pretty much everywhere he could reach. She remembered feeling so sick at the sight of the blood, throwing up the contents of her stomach before she could even stick a finger or toothbrush down her throat, like she normally would. She remembered, as she started to feel lightheaded and blacked out, hearing someone scream.
“Why, Callie?” Charlotte asked again, bringing her out of her trance.
“I-I don’t know, Char.” Callie said, looking down at her arms once more.
“Do you realize what’s going to happen to you now?” Charlotte asked, not giving Callie time to respond before answering herself. “You’re going to have to go to the nuthouse! The mental institution! Whatever! You’re gonna go to therapy!”
“And I’m going to go willingly.”
“Wait, what?” Charlotte asked, confused. She thought her sister would put up a fight.
“I have to get better, Char, and I’ll do whatever it takes.” Callie said, a small smile on her face.
Reviews would be nice...
xoxo C
The first thing she saw when she woke was a bright light, shining in her eyes as though she was looking at the sun. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, opening for a few seconds every so often to get used to it. Eventually she was able to handle it and opened her eyes fully. She tried to speak, but no words came out. That’s when she became aware of the two women in white leaning over her.
“Can you hear me?” A kind-looking woman in her late twenties asked. Not being able to speak, the girl gave a feeble nod.
“Sweetie, there’s a tube in your throat. You’re going to have to cough so we can get it out. Can you do that?” Another woman, this one in her forties, asked of her. The 19-year-old in question obeyed, and even though it hurt to do so, she continued coughing until the tube was fully out of her throat. Someone handed her a plastic cup full of water, and she accepted gratefully, reveling in the feeling of the cool, refreshing liquid running down her dry, scratchy throat.
“Can you tell us your full name?” She heard the first woman ask.
“C-Callie L-Lea S-Sanchez.” She stuttered. She saw the young woman look to her right, as if looking for confirmation. She became aware of a familiar voice whispering the word “Yes”.
“Can you sit up for us, Callie?” The second woman asked. Callie attempted, and although it felt as though her arms were weighed down, she managed to pull herself up.
“W-Why do my arms f-feel weird?” She asked. She stuttered less as she got used to talking.
“Look for yourself, sweetie.” The older woman said. She looked down at her arms and gasped.
“What happened?!” She exclaimed, almost panicking at the sight of the scars littering her arms.
“We don’t know what you did, Cal. What we want to know is why you did it.” That familiar voice spoke up. She looked to the right, and visibly paled at the sight of her baby sister. Charlotte would have never been caught dead crying. Even at their mother’s funeral, she refused to let a single tear run down her face. So why was she sobbing now, with eyeliner running down her face like a sad clown’s makeup?
“I-I did this?” Callie gasped, looking at the scars again. Now that she wasn’t freaking out as much, she could see the scars were clearly self-harm marks.
“Yes. Why, Callie?” Charlotte asked of her older sister. In her head, Callie replayed what she remembered now.
She remembered how she had developed bulimia after her mother’s death, thinking to herself her mother wouldn’t have died if she wasn’t so fat, as stupid as it sounded. She remembered stepping on the scale, barely even weighing 80 pounds and still only seeing nothing but fat in the mirror. She remembered literally eating everything in the pantry, eating and eating until nothing was left. She remembered heading straight for the bathroom, feeling guilty for eating so much. She remembered grabbing her razor blade off the vanity, watching it gleam in the bright light before ‘punishing herself’ for eating so much. She remembered not stopping there, though. She remembered practically obliterating her arms, but not feeling satisfied, dragging the silver blade across her legs, hips, abdomen, pretty much everywhere he could reach. She remembered feeling so sick at the sight of the blood, throwing up the contents of her stomach before she could even stick a finger or toothbrush down her throat, like she normally would. She remembered, as she started to feel lightheaded and blacked out, hearing someone scream.
“Why, Callie?” Charlotte asked again, bringing her out of her trance.
“I-I don’t know, Char.” Callie said, looking down at her arms once more.
“Do you realize what’s going to happen to you now?” Charlotte asked, not giving Callie time to respond before answering herself. “You’re going to have to go to the nuthouse! The mental institution! Whatever! You’re gonna go to therapy!”
“And I’m going to go willingly.”
“Wait, what?” Charlotte asked, confused. She thought her sister would put up a fight.
“I have to get better, Char, and I’ll do whatever it takes.” Callie said, a small smile on her face.
Reviews would be nice...
xoxo C
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