Escaping Pain

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story about a girl finding hope after her boyfriend dies, and she goes through suicide/depression. Based on my life - I guess.

Hope you all like it!

Submitted: September 16, 2010

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Submitted: September 16, 2010

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I sat on the bathroom floor; a place I found myself often. Tears rushing down my face, my eyes blood shot from the impact of the pain.
I held a razorblade tightly in my hand, trying to fight the urge to cut deep, deeper than ever before. I tried to fight the urge to take me life, I knew that I couldn’t handle life anymore and I needed an escape. There were already cuts on my arm, two inches across, covering the surface, so I thought, looking at what I had done to myself, what would matter – it’s only one more cut. One more cut, that would take everything away. I wouldn’t have to feel the pain anymore. I contemplated – with doing it, or putting up with this pain, which made my body crimple over in every thought, I contemplated in taking my life or suffering just a bit more.
All I needed was to be comforted, my dreams were taking over my soul, and my whole existence was surrounded by these nightmares. Nightmares of seeing him get shot all over again. I visualized it all over in my mind, it was happening again.
His fragile body stands there so motionless as they pull out the gun to shoot. My lover’s body, so vulnerable to that one bullet, it hits with a loud blow, echoing through my heart. I watch him drop to the ground, body inclines over, and I run to his deceased body, tears streaming down my face, I collapse to his side, and rest my head on his chest. As everything around me moves so fast.
I tried to stay sane, in that empty bathroom, with only Chris’ absence in the room. Imagining him there, beside me, comforting me and catching my tears as they rushed down my cheek - kept me sane.
 
A knock at the door, woke me up, out of my unconsciousness and I hide the blade inside my jeans pocket.
“Yes? What?” I asked, trying to sound as collected as possible.
It was one of my friends.
“Charlotte? You’ve been in there for a bit, are you okay? Let me in.”  
Wiping the blood of my skin and painfully rolling down my sleeve, I pulled myself up of the floor, wiped away my tears and opened the door.
She stood there, I could tell she knew something was up, she must of heard me, I thought. Before I could even move, she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the next room.
My heart jumped, as I realized that she knew. What she was going to say, I had no idea. I tried to calm myself but it wouldn’t work, I couldn’t convince myself to believe that she knew nothing, because deep down I know she knew something.
“Charlotte,” she said calmly, softly whispering “Charlotte, I’m sorry, I haven’t been here for you. I want to make it up to.”
I was confused. What, what was she talking about?
“What? What do you mean Kalie?
She stood there inanimate, waiting just a moment. “Charlotte,” she began “I want to comfort you through your cut-“
“No! I don’t cut. You don’t understand. I don’t cut.” I decided to stop talking there, because every word was making my voice break more.
“Char, it’s ok. Really, I don’t want you to feel afraid of me. I want you to talk to me. I want to understand and be here for you.” She reached out and held my shaking hands, “I want you to talk to me, please.”
I started weeping, my tears streaming down my face again, and the warm substance of pain rushing down to the inner core of my heart. My body disintegrated from beneath me, falling to the ground, my heart crushing beneath my pain. She fell to the floor beside me, holding me, comforting me, just as Chris did.
My mind flew in so many directions, I was confused, upset, and I was scared. I began to shake, with the memories coming back, I wanted to curl into a ball and die, I wanted to hide my pain from the world, I didn’t want to talk about it, I wanted to forget everything.
She held my arm, in hope that I would stop shaking, but I screamed out in pain. She lifted her arm, and saw blood on it, she began to pull up my sleeve.
“No, no. Please.” I cried, praying that she would leave it.
“It’s okay Char. I already know, just let me see.”
Shock shone through her eyes, looking up at me. Why? Spread across her face. A question I could not answer.
I felt embarrassed, I was scared, it wasn’t easy for me to show my secret, a secret that I thought I hide so well. I was horrified at the fact that she might feel revolted at the sight, or disgusted. To frightened that she might have seen the real me, I turned my face in absolute embarrassment. I was worried that she would turn her back and look for a friend that is normal, and not like this, not wanting to give up at everything in life.
But she wouldn’t, she didn’t.
Her fingers slowly traced over my raw scars, it didn’t hurt, a slight sting, yes. But it wasn’t painful. It was as if she was healing them. Healing me, her kind and caring heart, fixing me this uncontrollable human being.  
“It helps me” she whispered, “when I feel this light touch, it reminds me that these – things, they’re still gentle in this world.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and murmured “It hurts, so much. I can’t take it.”
I grabbed the hidden razor, out of my pocket, and brought it to my skin. Her hand covered mine gently, though she wasn’t stopping me. Slowly as her hand was touching mine, I pulled the razor close to my wrist, deeper this time I cut.
Gently she forced me to lift my hand, off my arm. The razor dropped to the floor and she cradled me to her chest, humming a lullaby that made my tears fall beautifully from my eyes.
Silence filled the room, as she cradled my body and whispered in my ear “I’m here.”


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