Suffocation

A Story by Crazy Claire

Love is like suffocating in something sweet.

     My hand was cupped over my mouth, trying to hold myself back from screaming. I didn't need a mirror to know that my face was bright red, that my eyes were glistening with tears, and that I had a bruise on my right eye. But none of that mattered. In fact, that had been my goal! My room was pitch black and silent, aside from the screamo music, so loud it was audible through my headphones, and my heavy breathing. All of me was sore - literally. My head, my arms, my legs, my waist, my eyes....
     All from the beauty of self harm. My phone buzzed. You had texted me. And, all at once,
my sadness turned into rage. Who do you think you are, making me feel this way, making me hurt myself to the point of bruises and blood? And then you try to make it seemed like you'd never hurt me. Bullshit!
     I threw my phone across the room, and felt the rage slowly swarm up inside me. Time to let it take over again.... Is it bad to enjoy this? To like the feeling of going insane? To like the feeling of having no control? Hell, it's better than how I normally feel. Suddenly, nothing matters. Nothing.I punched the wall as hard as I could, then immediately fell to the floor with the sharp pain in my hand. I glanced at my knuckles. They were bleeding a little. Haha. Good.
     But, no. It's not enough. It will never be enough. I ran to my dresser and pulled out the knife I kept hidden in there. I grinned, imagining what I could do to myself with it. Yes, I'm crazy. It's okay, I know. Hurriedly, I ran to my closet and shut the door and turned on the light. All alone, just like every other time. My ears were ringing because my music was so loud. I couldn't hear myself think. It was perfect.
     In order to not be seen, I cut my waist. I pulled down my pajama bottoms a little, just enough to do it. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall, trying not to groan from the pain. Man, how I loved the pain. It's just so...relieving. A small part of me was aware that I should stop, that I had done enough for one night, but the other part of me was screaming "more more more!" The other part of me was stronger.
     When I finally did decide to be done, I glanced down at my bloody waist, and smiled again, proud of my work. I cleaned off the tip of the knife on my shirt, and put it back. My heart was pounding, I could feel it beating strongly in my chest. I decided it was time to check my phone, to see what you said. It was about how in love you are with THEM. I punched the wall again, not caring if my hand broke or bled or anything. I was just. So. Angry. At that particular moment I would have given anything just to murder someone.
     But I couldn't. Of course I couldn't. I never get what I want! But what did I do? Because I'm such an amazing friend? I gave you advice. I helped you through it, like I always do. And as usual, you sensed nothing was wrong, you ignorantly overlooked the truth that I was out of my mind and about to strangle something.
     I crawled into bed with my iPod and my phone once I was sure my waist was done bleeding. I continued to text you and instead played some softer music, letting myself be sad for a while. I'd had enough anger for one night. The urge to cry took over me greatly, but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't cry. I never can cry, I don't know why. It's killing me, s**t, it's going to kill me. Unless I kill myself first, which sounds very appealing. But I won't. Why not? Well, because of you, my dear.
     You've said, one too many times, how you could not live or cope without me. And that you love and appreciate and care about me. But I know it's all bullshit, it always is. You always find some way to prove that it is. I've come to accept and embrace the fact that no one cares about me. It's just part of my daily life now. I go to school and fake a smile that no one cares enough about to look past. But just in case, one of these days, you decide you actually do care, that's why I can't kill myself.
     I won't let you die because of me. You're too perfect for that. And maybe that's why I help you through all the s**t that breaks me inside. Because I care about you too much to want, I have to do everything in my power to help you. If you are happy, I am happy, that is all that I know now. Right?
     I love you.