Lying back against the pillows, I try to close my eyes. Sleep is the only real escape I get anymore. It turns everything off. It’s the only thing I look forward to these days.
I just want a break from it all.
This unbearable ache takes over my mind before I can drift off, and all I want is to talk to her.
“I miss you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you lately…It’s just all…been a lot. And I think I’ve been too scared to.”
I turn, clutching my pillow and bring it to my chest for comfort.
“The ache to be with you—wherever you are—is getting stronger. I know you wouldn’t want that for me. I’m trying to stay here. I really am. I just wish you were here too. Maybe none of this would have ever happened if you were. Hell…maybe worse would have happened, who knows. It seems like the world is who really hates me, so maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference…”
I can’t handle the painful thoughts clouding my mind. The ones that push all the bad memories to the forefront. The ones that replay the worst pain I’ve ever felt on repeat, over and over. The ones that consume and take over all other thoughts, telling me the world would be better without me, too.
I can’t handle how much it hurts, and how I can never quiet it on my own. I hate the feeling of dissociating from my mind. I need something to bring me back, to make it stop.
I open the drawer beside my bed and pull out the broken pair of scissors I keep hidden.
“Please don’t be mad at me, Camilla. And please don’t watch this…”
The tears start to fall as I lie back down, lifting up my shirt. Slowly, I take the sharp blade to the edge of my stomach, pressing it against the skin. The first cut is always the hardest to do, but as soon as the blade cuts through flesh, it cuts through the noise.
Everything gets quiet.
I’m in control of this feeling. I get to have a say in the pain. And at least this pain turns my thoughts off. My brain starts to go into preservation mode. It knows something else needs its attention more. I get to coax it away from the suffocating memories.
The blade moves like memory—automatic, detached. There’s no high, no dramatic effect, just a dull relief that finally pulls me back into my body, out of the spiraling anxiety. The physical pain burns, but the release is what I crave.
The exhaustion takes back over once the thoughts quiet down. I pull my shirt back down and press it into my skin, soaking up the blood. I hold my hand there as I turn onto my side and stare at the wall, taking in the peacefulness of nothing until sleep welcomes me back.
29
Lydia
Somehow, John went from just doing me the favor of letting me borrow his textbooks to tutoring me almost every day after he got home from school. It’s strange how quickly someone can become a part of your everyday routine. One day, you’re cautiously answering the door, nervous about seeing him, and the next, you’re curled up in your bed, watching the minutes go by slowly, waiting for him to come over. He’s become this unexpected constant, and a surprising comfort. The last person I expected to help me through all of this.
It’s almost embarrassing how easily my shoulders relax when I hear him downstairs some days talking with Sarah like a true gentleman, how quickly my heart rate slows when his footsteps approach my bedroom door.
I’m not supposed to feel like this.
I don’twantto feel like this.
But I do.
John is sitting across from me now on the bed, biology notes laid out around us, books opened, papers everywhere. It’s a chaotic mess, but there’s peace here. He’s quizzing me, his voice teasing and playful as usual, giving me the mental break I crave.
“Come on, Lyd, you knowthis one,” he laughs, full of amusement.
I toss my notebook at him, rolling my eyes. “Ugh. I told you, biology hates me. And I hate it back.”
He picks up the notebook as his laughter softens. “No, you don’t. You’re smart. You just overthink everything.”
“I donotoverthink!” I pout.
He laughs again, shaking his head. “That’s exactly what an over-thinker would say.”
“Whatever,” I mumble, but I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face.
We both start laughing, and it feels good.
