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This diary entry is written by BiteMeh. ( View all entries )
 

...Category: (general)
Saturday, 7 September 2013
09:56:28 PM (GMT)
I stare at the piece of work in front of me, Not really taking in any of the
information on the page. It's the same usual routine as the last year or two. Just
blank out, don't let anyone notice you. Keep your head down, Never speak when you're
not wanted. Fake smiles. Fake Laughter. Pretend to be happy when I'm with my
friends.

The Friends that never notice how much pain I'm going through.

There are many reasons for the pain. Such as my parents. Abusive, Yes , but not as
bad as some of the things I've been through. Immortality. The Sheer fact that however
much I want this pain to stop, for me to just disappear and never come back, Is
impossible. No matter what I do, whether It's standing in front of a train, Jumping
from a building, Hanging myself, Cutting open my wrist, It never works. I always die,
but I also always come back.

There's also him. The one person who I cared about and made me happy is gone. And
He's probably never coming back.
I sigh and open my sketchbook, Which I always keep with me. I open it to a new page,
looking at the last drawing I have done before Turning the page. A boy. Sleep
deprived, Sick of living. Taking a gun to his head and saying goodbye to the world.
Dark lines make the drawing stand out as well as the shading.

I grap my pencil and start sketching, not knowing what is going to come out onto the
paper. As soon as I realize what I'm drawing, I close the book and Sigh once again. I
stand up, not caring that people are staring at me.

"Kenneth McCormick, Get back into that seat this instant!" Garrison shouts at me.

I block him out, concentrating on grabbing all my stuff. I head towards the door.
Garrison shouts again but I barely notice, too busy exiting the room to give a single
fuck. I head towards the back of the school, keeping my head down and ignoring anyone
who walks near me. I sit down on the floor, my back against the uncomfortable wall. I
grab my Bag, staring at the band on the front first before I open it. I search,
trying to find the object I need. I pull it out of my bag , clutching it in my hand.
I slowly open my hand , Staring at the shining metal of the blade in my pale hand. I
take a deep breath and rest it against my left arm. I take a moment to stare at the
scars from the past few months. I blink slowly as I Slice my skin, a fain smile on my
lips as I see the crimson liquid dripping from my wrist. My vision starts to blur and
I slowly exit consciousness. 

I wake up, Gasping, My Eyes wide and searching. For the past few months, I've been
having a nightmare that keeps reapeating itself everynight. I'm not quite sure what
it means, but the blackness and the endlessness of it terrifies me. I sit on my
pathetic excuse for a bed for around 10 minutes, just thinking. I get up, quietly, as
to not alarm my mum and Dad that I'm awake. I search around my room, Looking for some
jeans without stains on them. I settle for a pair of Black jeans and my old My
Chemical Romance Top.

I slowly creep down the stairs, Trying not to make any noise. I don't want the
fucking teachers asking why I have a bust lip or a black eye. I relax, which is a
mistake because I accidently step too hard on the last stair, and it makes a quiet
squeak. I close my eyes, waiting for the screaming to happen, for my dad to come
running down the stairs and hit me... But it never happens.

I slowly open my eyes and sigh. I walk quietly into the living room, where the
cracked, dirty mirror hangs. I catch a glimpse of myself as I walk past it. I stop,
shocked by how awful I look.

I have bags under my eyes and My skin is very pale, almost white. My eyes are sunken
in and The blue not any where near as bright as it was once. I stare into those eyes
for a while longer, Searching. My Eyes are lifeless. They look as though my soul has
been ripped out of them and been replaced with nothing but pain. My cheeks are too
thin, And I almost look Dead. I shake my head slowly, and turn to walk away from the
mirror.

I freeze when I see him. My dad. He's standing in the frame of the door, Staring at
me with a scowl on his face.
" You little piece of shit...What the fuck are you doing? Get the Fuck out of my
house already!" He growls as he starts walking towards me, his boots loud against the
floorboards.

A feeling I know so commonly settles in the pit of my stomach, making me want to
throw up. I start walking backwards slowly, my hands out in front of me. My back hits
the wall and then I look around, panicking, He's almost right in front of me,
Breathing heavily. I watch as he lifts a hand to hit me.
I close my hands and hold them up in front of my face, balling them up into fists .

"You little Fucking Fag. You need to know what pain feels like!" He Shouts, his
breath hitting my face, making me wince and back up against the wall. He smirks and
looks at the kitchen table, where a sharp knife lays, glinting in the light. I gulp
and try to look for an escape , my eyes darting around the room. Shit.

He Glares at me, warning me to stay where I am otherwise My punishment for being...
Well, Alive, will be worse than I already know it is. He grabs the kitchen knife, a
smile on his face that of a serial killer would wear as he rips apart the body of his
newest victim, Watching in delight as the crimson blood pools around the dismembered
body parts.

He starts walking back to me as I gulp, once again my eyes dart around, looking for
any sort of escapse, but deep inside me I know that there is no escaping what is
about to happen.

He scowls at me, His breath hitting my face and I almost retch. His breath carries
the stench of Alcohol and smoke. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my cheek and Cry
out, instinctively covering my cheek where he Struck me with the knife. It's quite a
deep cut, but nothing bad. I pull m

y hand away and stare at it, a faint smile to my lips as I see the crimson liquid I
know so commonly drip off my fingers, glinting in the dull light.
I snap back into focus as He punches me in my stomach, The pain spreading like a
forest fire as I cry out once again. I bite my lip, trying to stop myself from
screaming or begging him to stop, because if I say anything I know that the
punishment will be for him to Hurt me even more. He's breathing heavily, a glint of
enjoyment in his eyes I only ever see when He's abusing me, brusing my body. I watch,
my eyes widening as his smile spreads accross his face , His fingers tightening
around the handle of the knife.

Everything now was a blur, He laughs a sickening cackle and brings the knife down
onto my stomach. At first I don't even feel the pain. Then It all hits me at once. My
stomach is burning, Making me unable to move, and all I can do is watch as he pulled
the glinting knife out of my stomach, the pain intensyfying. I watch him, wanting to
scream, to get out of there before he kills me again, But to my surprise he just
leaves me here. He walks out the room, wiping the knife on his top , smearing the
blood across it as he does so. I moan in pain, begging in my mind for someone to help
me. But no one wants to help the Outcast. The person who wasn't supposed to be born
in the first place. A freak to nature. A freak that no one can love.

I feel acid rising up my throat, and manage to lean fowards before I release the
contents of my stomach onto the floor. Contents meaning water. My vision starts to
blur, but I don't black out. I turn my head to the left, searching for anything I can
stop the bleeding with. I spot an old kitchen rag, and try to reach for it, but my
body protests, not letting me quite reach the rag. I try to lean over and grab it,
but as I do so, my stomach feels as though it is being ripped open by a pack of wild
wolves.

I let out a quiet howl of pain and clutch my stomach.

I don't know how long I've been sat here for, All I know is that the pain has
decreased , and that My blood has formed a beautiful crimson pool around my body. I'm
sure that soon I'll either die, or my mum will Make me get out of the house, Either
of which I would be glad for at the moment. I try to reach the rag that is to the
left of me, and to my surprise I reach, but my wound rips open, Resulting in me
coughing up blood and wishing so badly for death. I pull the rag to my stomach and
lift up my top, looking down at my wound. Blood is still streaking out of it, and
some dried blood is spread across my torso. I avoid looking at my other cuts, knowing
that I may start crying if I Do. I put the rag on my deep wound and sigh in relief. I
sit here, Just thinking.

Thinking about the pain I've been through. Thinking about the quotes I Have in the
back of my black book. The quotes I've started writing in these last few years. I
lift my eyes to look at the old dirty clock and try to read the time. I squint my
eyes, trying to make out the numbers... 10 minutes past 12. There's no reason for me
to attend school today, But I Still have my Job to go to at 4 o'clock. So I have 4
hours to pull my self off the floor and get to Tweeks coffee shop.

I close my eyes briefly, trying to conjure up the bravery to crawl over to the
cabinet where I know there are a few bandages. I climb onto my knees, waiting for a
blood rush to pass and I breathe slowly, in and out... In and Out...

I manage to crawl a pew paces before my vision starts blurring, so I close my eyes
and will myself to carry on, to go the few more paces.

I slowly open my eyes and take a few more paces, managing to make it to the cabinet.
I smile briefly, but then realise the direness of the situation I am currently in. I
open the cabinet slowly, trying not to make any noise. I search around in the
cabinet, trying to find the bandages.

Oh Shit. I feel myself start to panic, and I widen my eys, searching harder for the
bandages, my hands feeling everything. One of my index fingers touches a smooth
cotton surface and I quietly thank Satan... I'll explain that later. I pull out the
bandages and using a knife that was on the floor, Cut off a long slice of it. I wrap
it around my torso, wincing when I move. I don't have the time nor energy to clean
the wound yet, so I continue wrapping it around my torso. I tie a little knot, hoping
it wont come apart.

Now the hard part- Standing up.

I know that It will hurt. A Heck of a lot. But I have to.

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