FicWad

Bloody Fairytale
Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, there was a girl. This girl kept a journal, or as some would call it, a diary. You see, this girl never confided in anyone. Just kept it all to herself. She felt like she had no right to complain.
Her home-life wasn't bad enough to tell anyone. She wasn't beaten. Anymore. She had a roof above her head and a place to lay her head. But, then again, it wasn't good by any stretch of the imagination.
Her father left her mom when she was born. Her mom had two more kids with an awful man. She was blamed for everything. That may sound like a teenage dramatic over exaggeration, but in reality, it isn't. Her family swore she was the spawn of Satan. They attempted an "exorcism". They burned a cross into her back and cut them into her neck and arms. They carved "Jesus loves me" into her thighs to insure she wasn't being loose. They said if she told anyone, it would look like she was an attention-seeking idiot who did it to herself. She believed them.
At home, after her mom divorced the man she had two children with, this girl's life only got worse. From her perspective, she had no reason to complain. It seemed as if it was her fault for being born, anyway. Her mother turned back to drugs and fell into such a deep depression she couldn't do anything. Her siblings constantly tormented her. Not in just the normal ways. They hated her, burning her poetry, throwing razor blades in her bag to get her in trouble, hiding things of hers, taking school books, cutting her hair in her sleep. Telling her they would kill her if she didn't do what they said. And they would have tried.
She had anxiety and depression issues to begin with, and nothing happening was helping. Her mom put getting her drugs in front of her daughter's medication. She didn't really mind. She just wrote. When her mom saw what she wrote, if she didn’t like it, she burned it. When her mom saw her scars, she threatened to have her locked up.
Her obsession with fire caused her mother to think she was into witchcraft. Not saying she wasn't, but she just liked fire. Is that so wrong? Anyway, her mother hid her matches. She didn’t care. She just wrote some more.
She started to look for help at school. She pleaded with her words and eyes and showed the red tracks of her life and where it was headed. She didn't want pity, she only wanted, no, she needed, someone to be there. Anyone. But no one was ever there. She had no idea how to deal with people. Okay, so let's back up some to when she was almost thirteen. Her first boyfriend.
She met a boy. Sort of. His name was Chris. He did drugs and was rather promiscuous, but he seemed to care and understand and he helped. After awhile of being friends, he asked her to be his girlfriend. She didn't know at the time that he had been high and only did it because of a dare. It broke her heart to find out. This was the first person she has even tried to date, she was barely thirteen. It lasted four days. They had never even seen each other. He asked her out again, and it lasted three days. Oh well.
Shortly after, she met a man who was supposedly named Walter. He made her happy. He made her feel good about herself. He was 24. They obviously never met. He got some girl pregnant and broke up with her after a couple months.
She felt worthless. No one really liked her. Her only friend lied all the time and turned her back on her when she needed her most and spread nasty rumors about her that still follow her three years later. Saying she was a lesbian (she wasn't ready to tell anyone her standing on how she looked at people, even though she wasn't a lesbian, it hurt), said she did such unspeakable things, and said she was a Satanist. She learned to deal with it.
The rest of middle school until her friend (yes, the one that said nasty things) was made to be home-schooled. They haven't seen each other for more than twenty minutes in nearly a year. Back to middle school. Graduation was awkward. I mean, who cares about a graduation for eighth grade? And at a church. Lovely. She could honestly say she never wishes to come in contact with anyone from that dreaded school from Hades.
Freshman year was about to start. She didn't realize how scared she was until she walked through the doors. She had three honor's classes in a row and a typing class. She had always made straight A's in everything. She can't fail. She made an account on a website for writers to share their work about halfway through the year. She was terrified to post anything because she knew it all sucked and seemed whiney.
She started making bad decisions. She was assigned an essay on self-harm, something she had been studying on her own and trying not to start. The day before it was due, two days before Thanksgiving, she went into the bathroom, searched for the rubbing alcohol and some scissors, and started crying. For what seemed like hours she sat and cried. She didn't want to start because she knew she wouldn't be able to stop. But she needed to escape, by any means necessary. She brought the blade to her wrist and didn't press down har enough at first. It took awhile, but finally, she saw blood. A lot of blood. Realizing what she had started, she stared down at her arm, thinking “What have I done?"
That night was the start of troubles she couldn't have even begin to imagine. She wore a mask to school, praying no one would notice she wore jackets and pants all summer. One day, her mom saw. A careless mistake.
"What the heck is this?"
"I-I-I...I fell."
"Bull crap! Don't you dare lie to me."
"I-I-I uh..."
"Did you cut yourself?!"
"Uh...Well...Um...No?"
Her mother then proceeded to throw various pill bottles at her asking if she wanted to die, running through the house saying her daughter was suicidal.
Her mom thought she was helping, when in reality she made it much, much worse. Every inch of her body was cleverly covered in hidden scars. She became a better liar. Some days, she really did want to die.
On February 2nd of her freshman year, she met another boy. One of his friends talked them into dating. All he wanted was sex. She was afraid. When she was younger, her cousin had tried to rape her, on several occasions, and here was an older guy wanting sex. She thought it was normal. After all, her third boyfriend being the only one she ever sees, she didn't know how things worked. He was her first kiss. She was almost fifteen. She was always too afraid to do anything with him. He cheated on her with at least five other girls. She dealt with it for six months. He has no idea what he puts her through.
Freshman year ended rather uneventfully, and summertime crept its way around. She was forced to go to Ohio with her mom's ex-husband's family for some inexplicable reason. Not like she had any friends to miss. Near the end of the summer, she met a guy named Justin online.
He was...attracted...to some rather odd things, and was way too old for her. They dated for a long time. It was nearly impossible for her to get him to leave her alone after she had broken up with him; it took her four months to get him to stop being mean to her. Partially into her sophomore year, on October 4th, she started dating a really nice girl. Justin was still bothering her when they started out, but eventually stopped. Her girlfriend helps her with everything. Or at least tries.
She used to have a pill problem, and almost had an alcohol problem, and obviously had self-harm problems and eating issues. She could never bring herself to say those three dreadful words."I cut myself." Her girlfriend loves her, but one person can only put up with so much bull crap until they give up. She is constantly afraid of losing her.
She sees things, or at least thinks she does. This girl in her head named Anna made her feel like she was worthless. Anna, according to psychologists, was a manifestation of her anorexia and self-harm. She didn’t think so. She began to lose the ability to focus in class, she couldn’t sleep, she kept having these moments when she wouldn’t be able to control her muscles. Yeah, she twitched. A lot. Some days, she wouldn’t remember what happened the day before for absolutely no reason. Some days, she forgot everything.
One day, she got home and realized she hadn’t even opened her diary that day, so she decides to read through it.
“November 19th:
Decided to start a diary today. Been researching cutting and stuff like that for awhile now. I don’t know why this seems so interesting to me. All the blood. It should disgust me. Why doesn’t it? It shouldn’t hurt so much to see these people hurt. I shouldn’t feel this way at all. I know I can’t start, and if i do, I won’t be able to stop.
November 20th:
Can’t stop thinking about it. All I want is two seconds away from this pit of hatred. I’ll do anything to escape.
November 21:
First cut today. Why did I do this? What have I started? I’m so idiotic. Hate myself.
November 22nd:
Kay knows. No idea how. Going to her house today so I guess she was going to find out anyway. The blood last night. Why did it feel so good? Why was it relieving? Why am I so stupid?”
The rest were either ripped out, burned, bloody, or otherwise illegible until one from January 5th.
“January 5th:
Officially started. Met Anna.
January 11th:
Websites and gum. Pizza in the morning. Wanted to vomit. Didn’t because Bethany followed me into the bathroom. Gum. Need willpower and gum.
Goal weight? Need to find out how low I can actually get. 99? I don’t know! 115?
Gosh darn it. 6:30-7:00- Ate, a lot, ½ a burger with pickles ketchup, mustard, and tater tots and a salad. I hate myself.
January 14th:
Walked a lot yesterday, feel accomplished. Bethany gave me a ring today. It’s pretty much a promise ring. She got me to eat breakfast. Gross. More research to be done during lunch. Gum.
January 16th:
I found my goal. To push my legs together and to see a gap in my thighs.
January 17th:
Talked to Bethany this morning. I think she knows.
January 23rd:
Officially set calorie limit to 400. Hopefully I won’t go over. I’m going to write an epic for a class...fun.
January 24th:
Well, I was wrong. I did go over last night. Not much, but still. Oh, well, I can make up for it today. Bethany talked me into some 60 calorie orange juice and a few bites of cereal. Forget the world, I hate everything about it. If not for her, I would die tonight. Mom went off on me for no reason and I swear she has lost her mind. I had had enough, so I tried explaining to her and she pretended I hit her and told her boyfriend and said she would send me to her ex’s. That’s not supposed to be a punishment anymore. Whatever. I don’t even care anymore. Still only had about 60 calories today. Too upset to eat, so I guess that’s a good thing. I’m not allowed in my room, mom thinks I’ll try to kill myself.
February 20th:
Since Valentine’s Day, I’ve been a nasty fat gross pig. No more! Look at your friends. Look at your girlfriend. They’re perfect! Absolutely Perfect. You’re disgusting. A nasty, gross, fat, ugly, unhealthy poor excuse for a human being.
I made a deal with myself. If I go over, I have to do one cut. One more cut for every hundred I go over. They have to be deep. No exceptions. Ever.
February 21st:
Girls whose pants hang the same way. Shirts that fit the same. Just as pale. Look similar. Why must I see myself as worse than them? Everyone. I understand that some people, well a lot of people, are better than me, but everyone? What is wrong with me?
February 22nd:
I did well yesterday. 300 today.
February 25th:
You idiot! 19 cuts? Really? What the heck? You attention-seeking idiot! Do you want to be sent to the loony bin? 19. Nineteen. 19! Why? You know Bethany will see it. You know how much seeing you like this hurts her. Do you even care about her? Do you even care about anyone? You disgust me.”
After reading through these, she was understandably depressed, and decided to add a new page.
“February 26th:
I told you she would see them. Did you see the look on her face? She looked so hurt. She was about to cry. That’s it. Tonight is the night.”
She locked her door, sat on the floor, took her bag from under the bed, and said this would really be the last time, and she meant it. First, she organized everything. About 15 Xanax, 10 Loratab, 5 random, nameless pills, scissors, a knife, a razor blade, a lighter, and her best friend, rubbing alcohol (she would be having fun tonight). Then, she decided it would be rude to just leave without giving people a reason. All her feelings would die with her that way. Next, she said goodbye to the only real friend she ever had by burning her journal. All but one page.
She began crying. She took the dullest of her blades (this had to be a slow process), and made as many cuts on her left arm as she could fit. She took all thirty pills, and picked up her lighter that, for some reason, had daisies on it, and ended up burning quite a bit of her right arm until she felt like she should change. Then, she found the sharpest blade and decided this had gone on long enough.
The only thing she left behind was a folded-up page from her diary. It read:
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I screwed up too much. I understand no one will ever care enough to read this, but it’s here.
I’ve never been good enough. Just a whiney attention-hog who is too awkward to do anything. I know I’m a stupid ugly no talent fat loser who is so socially awkward I can’t even look at someone without wanting to hide, and I’m so pathetic that I know all my friends would eventually leave me for someone better, and all I’ll do is sit in the corner and watch because I know they would be so much better off. And I know that everything that has happened to me could have been worse. I know that people go through worse every day and don’t take their lives because of it, but they’re strong. I’m not.
My life is poison that infects everyone involved with it. I can’t care anymore. Sorry. All I can do is hurt people. I promise I won’t do it anymore.
Signed,
A sister, a daughter, a friend, and a bother. I am the girl you see hiding in the hallways. The woman who hides her life behind a fake smile, The girl no one ever sees.
I died so less people live crappily ever after.