Dry

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
Insight of a depressed girl

Submitted: November 06, 2016

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Submitted: November 06, 2016

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The small flame flickers, emitting a small net of safety in the dark abyss.

"Don't cut," they had told her. "Those gruesome scars aren't worth making a pretty girl ugly."

"Don't smoke," they had scolded her. "The small moment of bliss isn't with breaking the law. It isn't worth the chance of addiction. The money. The struggle. It's not worth it. You're not worth it."

Don't drink.

Write. Don't write that.

Talk.

You're talking too much.

Organize.

Take these pills for your "perfectionist" OCD.

Stop taking everything so seriously.

Get your heads out of the clouds.

She burns these empty solutions off her wrist. Searing away the disheartening words. She turns on a dull flashlight and sees only the ashes. A small gave holding even smaller words: do this, you'll feel better. Wait, no, stop that. Why don't you just calm down? Why can't you just be normal?

The next day, she looks at the hole. No, it's bubbled. She looks at the small, dark red mound. She starts to panic. They're going to see. They're going to take this away as well! Scrubbing tan makeup, hiding the hill, she stops. She recounts her past experiences. They only notice the words if spoken aloud. They only steal the words if she hurdles them at their face. The water washes away the dam. A dam meant not to contain words, but instead to hold the others at bay. The others see the dam and think, "oh, would you look at that pretty dam? Gaze upon its thick, reinforced concrete walls. We built that. We kept the girl safe, comfortable, happy, dry. We did, we did, we did.


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