A Masked Smile

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Each and every day, I fed myself with insecurities and did whatever I could to transfer the emotional pain into physical pain. It was an addiction, a continuous craving, all hidden behind a masked smile.

Submitted: July 09, 2013

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Submitted: July 09, 2013

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A A A


 

“Why aren’t you eating?” my friend asked, taking a bite of her pizza.

“Oh, I’m just not hungry,” I replied back, giving her usual excuse. I sucked in my stomach to eliminate its repetitive growling. The thunderous munching and slurping was all I could hear as I glanced from left to right. “I’m gonna go use the toilet. I’ll catch up with you guys later,” I notified, flashing another smile. Ignoring what I imagine to be the stares of repulsion and echoing whispers, I quickly stormed out of the cafeteria.

I slammed the door and breathed out the anger that was furiously building inside my body. My hands were grasped in my tangled hair as a tear steadily dropped down my cheek like a leaking faucet. The cold air brushed against my skin and my shirt slowly started to lift up while I slid down the door behind me. Wrapping my shaking arms loosely around my knees, I whispered to myself, “Why does everything have to be so difficult? All I wish for is happiness. Is that too much to ask?” With my eyes shut tightly, I vigorously bit my lip and screamed out the excruciating pain that overwhelmed me.

The piercing sound of thunder exploded in my ears, harmonizing with my heavy breaths. I traced my finger on the raindrops that slowly danced down the other side of the window, to calm myself down. The glistening silver blade that is in my other hand looked irresistible as the dim sunlight shone onto it. Suddenly, the urge to feel the stinging sensation on my skin struck through me, like electricity. Taking a deep breath to relax my muscles, the blade swiftly glided across my wrist.

My eyes are focused on the blood that was seeping out of my skin, but all I could see are the flashing memories of the smiling girls I walk pass in the school hallway. Earlier today, I was standing with my friends focusing on the attractive gap between their thighs, instead of paying attention to the latest gossip. Their figures were the pinnacle of beauty, with each curve perfectly positioned on every centimeter of their bodies. Clutching onto my wrist, a rush of numbness began to spread through me. Droplets of sweat swam down the back of my neck. Ignoring the blood that dripped down onto the floor, I viciously dug my fingernails into my thighs. “Why did I have to be such a disgrace?” I croaked. Tears streamed down my face like a waterfall, as the blade teared down my skin like a predator tipping the flesh of its prey. My heart shattered. I screamed out silence. It was a relentless, recurring battle with myself.

All of a sudden, a deafening thump erupted from the door. My body trembled with fear. I quickly smeared water over my face and wrapped a bunch of hair ties over my bloody wrist. Taking a deep breath, I dug my fingers into my hair, trying to fix it. Painting a smile on my face, I walked out of the door as if nothing ever happened. Each and every day, I fed myself with insecurities and did whatever I could to transfer the emotional pain into physical pain. It was an addiction, a continuous craving, all hidden behind a masked smile.

 


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