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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The sad thing is that i didn't mean for this to be a short story or whatever. It was just some thoughts i have about how i see myself alot of the time.

Submitted: March 05, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 05, 2008



The longer I stare at myself in the mirror, the more convinced I become that the bitch staring back isn’t me. I can see her messy dark hair covering her bright red face that’s stained with tears. I can see her dark eyes that are so filled with frustration and sadness. I can see her black soul that’s screaming to get out, so terrified about being trapped inside such a lonely body that I can almost hear it screaming. What am I saying almost? I can hear it screaming. It screams inside my head. It screams so fucking loud that sometimes I can’t hear myself think. All of my useless thoughts collide and shatter into each other as I try to make sense of this existence. And you know what? I hate this girl that I see staring back at me. I really hate her. I want to cause her pathetic little life so much pain and so much misery that she goes away. I want her to go far away to somewhere she can be tormented for the rest of her sad little life. I want her to die. Please let me out of here. Let me out of this girl. I can’t get out. I’m stuck inside her depressing existence and only I know that she isn’t really me.
Sometimes I hear her crying, and it makes me feel sick. Her self pity is sick. She’s sick and it’s making me sick. Her thoughts are so twisted. I wish I could get them out of my head. She thinks about the strangest things sometimes. I hear her thinking about life, about death, about pain, about everything. Hearing her thoughts makes me feel lonely a lot. I wish she could just shut the fuck up. Why won’t she shut up? Why won’t she leave me alone? The only time she calms down is when I hurt her. I’ve tried everything. I cut her wrists, I shove my fingers down her throat until she’s sick, I slap her across the face so hard that she bleeds, but still I can hear her pain. Her pain seems to leek into my head like spilling blood. It’s everywhere. The hurt is everywhere. She is everywhere.
Please help me get rid of her. I don’t want to feel her in me anymore. Even with her here I am lonely. I am lonely for normality. Surely everyone doesn’t have her inside them; if they did they wouldn’t get so angry when I talked about her. I hate anger, and yet it suffocates me. It’s as though I’m drowning inside her mind. Trying to find my way out of the filthy water that’s spilled into her demented thoughts, but I keep falling back in and being pushed under all the hurt until I can no longer breathe air that isn’t polluted by pain.
All I want is for everything to stop. When I shut my eyes I see her broken smile and the look of sadness deep inside her broken heart. The cuts on my wrists are the cuts that are for her, and the bruises on my face are the bruises that are for her, and the pills I choke down my throat now are for her. If I am trapped inside her mind, then surely if she dies I can get out. And when I get out I can walk free amongst the burning flames of hell, because that’s where I belong. That’s where I belong if I’m so fucked that I can’t accept that the girl I see in the mirror staring back at me, is me.

© Copyright 2018 katrina soroya. All rights reserved.

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