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She is truly broken. She has been judged, teased, lied to, and abused. She is lost and confused. She thinks shes alone. She thinks no one will care, no one will notice. She thinks its her last resort…but she doesn’t want to do it. She doesn’t want to be the girl everyone says “don’t make the same mistake as her!” about. She doesn’t want to do it, and truly realize how little she matter to everyone. She sits alone at home. She checks her phone…no new messages. No one ever texts her. She only has one friend, who now has a new boyfriend & seems to have totally forgotten about her. She checks her facebook…nothing. 124 friends but none are true. She is tempted by everything around her. Her boxcutter on her dresser. The belts in her closet. The pillow’s case on her bed. So many thoughts in her head over power the small voice softly whipsering “Don’t do it.” soon you cannot hear that voice at all. She goes downstairs…Does she want a pad & pencil…or a camera? She grabs both just in case. She goes into the medicine cabinet. There is an unopened bottle of sleeping pills. She reads the label “Don’t take over two pills at one time” it reads. She grabs her things and goes to her room. She places the camera on her desk. Tears are slowly falling from her eyes…she looks at herself in the mirror. Her ugly self. Her disgusting brown hair & matching stupid eyes. She wishes she was blond & had blue eyes, like her gorgeous friend. She watching each teardrop slide down her cheeks, past her oversized nose, past her lips that have never been kissed, down to her pointy chin, then only to fall and leave a tiny puddle on the floor. She grabs her boxcutter one last time, and cuts her legs. Her fats, jiggling thighs that she had always hatted. She cuts and cuts. Blood pours out. Soon the teardrops are not the only puddles on the floor. It hurts worse than ever but she wont stop. She cant. So she continues. Next, when there are no more places, she cuts her arm. All over it. She leaves her forearm though. Special for certain words. “Not Good Enough” is what she chose. Because that’s what she was. Not good enough. She never was. Never will be. Good enough. She’s done cutting. She looks to the ground. She watches the blood sink into the wood floor, dying the brown to red quickly. Her eyes now are so filled with tears, she can hardly see anything. Just red. On her clothes, on her body, on her face, on her floor, all around her. She turns on the camera. She says sorry to who parents. Sorry she wasnt who they wanted. She says sorry to her friend, not that she would care. She says sorry that she couldnt bare it any longer. She grabs the bottle. Her brain fuzzy & her vision blurred, she fought to open the bottle & ended up spilling it in the pool of blood. More tears now as she has nothing else to do. A rope. She grabs a rope quickly. Where can she tie to though? To her fan? Its worth a shot. She does. She grabs a chair. Stands on it, puts her neck through the rope, kicks the chair. Dead. Gone. What will her family do? What will her only friend do? Will anyone care? No….. Well she wrong. Her mother found her hanging there. Her first reaction was to remove her baby from the rope & hold her. She tried, but droped her daughter. She fell into her pool of blood & tears. Her mother grabbed her and held her…she fell asleep with her dead baby girl in her own blood. Her mother went mentally insane after that night. Her younger brother cuts now & doesnt have any family anymore. Her best friend attempted suicide and is now going through treatment. More than 3/4s her school is in moarning wondering if they were the reason she left. I can’t help but think, that if someone were to just smile to her that day, just one smile was all it needed, and she would have lived…
268 notes reblogged from sinand-selfdestruction-deactiva originally posted by ohmyquinn-deactivated20120705 posted on April 30, 2012
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