FicWad

Hey, this is my first story so go easy on me:3 I hope you like it, please Rate and Review to let me know what you think(: xx

It's like I'm being choked by these chains holding me here. Like all the freedom has been drained from the world.

I feel broken. Like even if i was no longer bound by these chains I will still stay here. I don't understand what's wrong with me. I hate it here, I'm always in the dark.

I've thought of running away.. Give myself this freedom that i crave. But to do that you need courage, which i desperately lack. I'm sixteen and am the kid that's always targeted by people bigger than me (Which isn't difficult).. Not once have I fought back, not once have I stood up for myself, not once have I been brave enough.

I sit alone in my room, gazing out the window, watching thick rain drops slip down the glass. I close my eyes, I feel these walls start breathing and my mind unweaving and I can't explain it.. It's alomst like i'm drowning in myself. I open my eyes again to the grey sky, where a solo bird glides from tree to tree. I always ask myself why birds stay in the same place when they could fly anywhere else in the whole world.. But then I ask myself the same question.

I have considered self destruction as my only option of freedom.. But I feel like that would drain me of the little self dignity I have left. Instead I result to slicing my wrists, i watch the blood flow out of my veins to know I'm still alive, no matter how dead I feel. It gives me some strange staisfaction that I can't explain. I don't cut deep but i still don't want anyone to see, I don't think anyone would understand.. I feel like I've been made to be broken and I don't even know anyone who would care anyway. I don't have any friends and I live with my Father, who trys to hide his disappointment in me, but I can see through him. The way he sighs when he sees me, the way he shakes his head and mutters under his breath makes me think he wants me to know he's ashamed. He started doing this when I was fourteen, and stopped going to church. That's around the time I started cutting too.. It was the year my mother died of cancer. If she was still here i know that she would understand. My Mom and I were so close, and i'll never be the same again. After her death I began distancing myself from everyone, refusing to look up or show them any ignoledgement. Now that her death has sunk in i see clear that I am alone.

I'm used to being alone now though, but that doesn't mean that I enjoy it.
I would give anything to have a friend, someone who'll accept me for me. But people's fakeness and the drama they create is one of the reasons why i'd prefer to be alone. No one can judge you then. No one but yourself. And that doesn't give much comfort either. I even see myself as a waste of space. Some days I'm so full of self hatred that I have to whisper to myself "don't let go" to restrain myself from cutting deeper than usual, and i'll bleed my heart out but never let go.
You'd think that my Dad would notice something wrong, that he'd want to talk about it, get me help.. But ever since Mom died he's distanced himself as well. Everyday after work he goes to the pub and drinks untill he can't see. I guess it takes away the pain. My method of eliminating pain is scarring myself, his is drinking himself to death.. We don't comment on each other's ways of release, i think dad prefers it that way.

I walk to the mirror and study the short, thin, dark haired boy gazing back. I don't know what I'm hoping to find; some kind of hope maybe.. some kind of spark in my deep hazel eyes. I got nothing.
I looked down at my Blink 182 tshirt, tight black skinny jeans and black converse shoes, I felt myself, but for some reason being yourself in this world isn't enough.
I swung my school bag over my back and left my bedroom. When I entered the hall I could tell my Dad had come in late last night. He wasn't here when I fell into another dreamless sleep, which was at 2am. The evidence was everywhere, the coat stand bowled over, smashed bottles of various liquors and my father, collasped on the kitchen floor. I pitied him. I kicked a bottle out of my way before trudging out of the small, rundown house and onto the street, school was only a few blocks away, but i always felt this fear to walk the distance. Often enough Scott MacDonald and his followers couldn't wait untill Lunch break to hunt me down and come for me before school's even started. I was expecting it though, which gave me the advantage to mentally prepare myself for the damage that they're about to cause. However, I made it to school untouched. I didn't let this relax me though. I was always alert, always looking for the best place to run, always ready. It made me sick.

I wish I had courage, just a bit of bravery. I keep telling myself that one day i'll snap and punch Scott back.. but i just don't see that happening. I hate letting Scott get the best of me.

I grip the razor blade in my hoddie pocket, feeling it bite into my flesh. I've resulted to bringing it to school, just to get through the day. I know it's wrong. I just don't know how to get out of it.. I don't know how to escape myself.

The bell echoes around the entire school. I hitched my bag more securely on my shoulders and march up the stairs towards my first class; English. Being ready for another day of remorse and pain, but not having the guts to change it.

I've learnt not to be so innocent, there are things we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go.

Please let me know what you think! And r and r(: Let me know if i should continue or not. Thank you so so much for reading xo