It's getting dark outside now and the dark feels like home. She can always curl herself up into the nothingness that surrounds her life and pretend that everything is okay. She can always pretend that nothing hurts her, when everything seems to rip her to shreds and leave her hanging lifeless. She fingers an old rusted razor and wonders what it must be like to be dead; how nice it must be to forget everything and release all the hate and pain and be broken for the last time.
She moves to the dirty bathroom. Dark smudges stain the mirror. Her own blood. She gazes at her reflection and cringes at the ugliness that stares back at her. Broken dreams and bruised skin--its everything that her life consists of. A crooked nose is a gross reminder that love is tough and love is hard to find. Looking in all the wrong places, she often ended up with human wrecks of men. The only love she has ever known has been the wounds she inflicted on herself in hopes that she could somehow let go of some of the hate.
She pushes up the sleeves of her swetshirt and the dark, rope-like scars that run up and down her arms please her. The only control she has ever known in her life has been her own self mutilation, the fact that she could cause as much destruction to her body as she wanted. She could control the blood and she could control the scars.
A tear escapes her eye and slides down her cheek. This time there will be no scars. This time her wounds will not heal. This time is the last time and she will finish it all. There is no one left to care and her heart aches to be rid of herself. Her long dark hair falls over her face as she lowers her head and presses the razor to her warm skin, enjoying the feel of its sharp edge and the cold reality of her situation.
Left wrist first: one deep, vertical slit. The blood pumps immediately from her severed flesh and veins and it is very deep and dark compared to her pale skin. Right wrist second: another deep, vertical slit. The razor falls to the floor and she leans agains the sink, reaching out and leaving a blood-soaked handprint against the wall, supporting herself. Reaching down, she turns on the hot water and runs her wrists underneath the warm flow, causing the veins to pump more freely. She feels lightheaded at first, and then her sight begins to dim. Sobbing uncontrollably now, no one never really understood her quite like herself.
Blood fills the sink faster then it can drain and her wrists are so deeply cut that she can see the tiny veins there. The room starts to spin and she hits the floor hard, bashing her head against the toilet. She lays and stares up at the ceiling, feeling tears and her life drain from her body. Slowly at first...then faster and faster...everything is getting darker and her body is tingling all over.
Dark.
Dead.
"Goddamn, this is a mess."
"Suicide?"
"Yeah. This bitch really hacked herself up. Lookit those wrists."
"Jesus...hey, have some respect for the dead, you old sonofabitch."
"Oh, c'mon. Help me get her on the stretcher."
Unfamiliar voices. Lights. Lights flashing just outside. Confusion.
I sat in the corner, my legs pulled up underneath my chin, staring at my dead body and wondered how all this bullshit could be. I thought I had killed myself.
"I'm not fucking dead," I said out loud to the ambulance drivers. They ignored me.
They roughly lifted my bleeding body onto the stretcher, buckled it down, pulling the sheet up over that face I had grown so used to. I wanted to scream.
I followed them out the door. They ignored me and I became increasingly annoyed with my situation and my confusion. I thought it all to be a big, bad dream. I held out my arms and looked at my wrists. Two hideous, deep cuts tattooed each wrist, the skin tattered and torn. I started to cry, reaching out to grab one of the paramedics, trying to get a grasp on the situation. Much to my dismay, my arm slid right through his body as if I were nothing more than a transparent vapor. I stumbled back, dumbfounded.
In between it all, I had the sick realization that it wasn't a bad dream at all.
Now I'm a fucking ghost. And this is my story.