Page 103 of Hate Like Ours

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I’m definitely more fuckedup than I thought I was. I almost fall flat on my ass twice while trying to make my way inside the house. It’s almost two a.m. and I’m surprised that the place is empty. I thought rich people partied all night or some shit like that.

I’m glad though because I don’t want my mom to see me like this. I don’t want her to see me falling apart and barely hanging on by a thread. I’m especially glad it’s empty because I don’t want to face people after the embarrassment that was caused by Knox. God, just remembering how humiliating that was is like a knife straight to the heart.

I’m sure my face is fucked up with the scratch marks that Ivy left. I guess I can put today as another one of the worst days of my life. When the fuck is the move here supposed to get better? I wish I fucking knew the answer to that question.

I feel weird right now. I shouldn’t have mixed the pills and alcohol but it’s too late now. The stress of everything is getting to me, and I feel angry.

Angry at Knox for everything he’s put me through and how unfair it is that he doesn’t get to face any sort of consequence for his actions. I stumble up the stairs. I don’t know what makes me do it but I go into his room instead of mine.

Looking at how neat and pristine everything is, a wave of anger sweeps over me and I start to destroy his room. I start with everything on his desk, throwing his computer against the wall and ripping up all the papers that’s on his desk.

This won’t improve things but I feel a little better. I’m destroying things that are his. I fill the tub in his bathroom with water and throw books, journals and what looks like albums inside.

I go into my room and grab the hair dye, before going back into his room and just spraying it everywhere. I aim it at his walls, his blanket and then pour some in the tub and all over his bathroom. I’m not even thinking about the consequences, I’m just thinking about how good it feels to mess up something of his. He’ll kill me for this but whatever.

When I’m done, I stumble back to my room and grab something out of my bathroom and one of my empty sketch pads, pencils, and my phone before making my way back downstairs.

Since the backyard is empty, I figure I’ll go there and sit by myself for a while. Before doing so, I grab a bottle of rum to take with me. It’s not a pity party if you don’t have alcohol with you, right?

I know I’m going to need it since the demons inside my head are active right now and alcohol seems to be the only thing that calms them down. That or when I’m cutting or drowning myself in pills, at least until they start again.

When I step out into the backyard, it’s empty thankfully. The string lights are still on and they cast a nice and intimate glow around the entire space. It’s picture perfect but I can’t find the beauty in it because it represents things that I hate.

With a sigh, I leave the area and head all the way to the back of the property where the tree is and I take a seat on the grass. It’s peaceful here but again, the scene does nothing to calm the chaos inside my head.

My chest feels funny and I brace my back against the tree to try and calm myself. I have no idea what the hell is happening. Maybe it’s because I was drinking earlier, and that’s the reason why my heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest.

I breathe in and then out as I let the cool night air wash over me for a few minutes. I grab my phone and check the school’s website because I can’t help myself. It’s a form of self-torture that I can’t seem to break either. It’s become an addiction like with the pills. As always, I regret it instantly whenever I see the contents.

My face falls when I see all the new and horrible things written about me. There are even a few videos from different angles of me falling today along with other horrible shit.

Not wanting to look at this crap anymore, I exit out of the website and sit there for a while, staring blankly out at the night sky. A sob crawls up my throat as I suddenly feel a wave of emptiness hit me. I feel so lost and I have no idea what to do anymore to survive this place.

This feeling suddenly taking over me makes me realize just how unhappy I am. I don’t know how to fix that shit to make myself feel better. I feel nothing but despair in my soul. I haven’t been living at all in the last few weeks. I’ve just been existing in this void I keep myself in. The drug-induced one that won’t let me leave its grasp, while trying to hide from all the bullies.

I open the music app on my phone and play the song “I Don’t Wanna Be You Anymore” by Billie Eilish. It fits my whole state of being right now. The tears slide down my face in a steady stream as I let all the pain I’ve been feeling flow through me.

I cry for the girl I used to be before I let their hate and their words get to me. Before I let it all influence the way I changed myself just because I didn’t want them to torment me anymore. In the end, I realize that it never would have worked. No matter what I did, they’d still hate me. It’s in that moment that I really realize that I’ll never be the girl I once was, ever again. I let them get inside my head and I’ve done terrible things to myself because of it.

That naïve girl is dead and gone. With that thought in mind, I take the new razor blade I grabbed from the bathroom and take it out of its wrapping. I pull the sleeves of my dress up and then I start cutting my arm again.

I watch as the crimson lines appear. The more I look as I cut, the more I wish I was brave enough to just slice my vein and end it all.

My chest heaves as I cut deeper than I’ve ever cut before. As much as it pains me to hurt myself like this, I keep going. It feels like it’s the only thing I can do to stop myself from completely breaking.Is it weird to think that hurting yourself is the only thing saving you?

When my arm is a bloody mess, I drop the blade in the grass and then pull my sleeve down again. I pick the pencil and sketch pad up and start to draw. My fingers are covered in blood and I can feel it dripping down my arm, but I’m in no state of mind to actually care right now. Instead, I focus on the pad and I do something I haven’t done in a while. I start drawing self-portraits.

My fingers glide on the paper as though someone else is drawing. They move but it’s like I’m somewhere far away, looking in on myself, but I’m not the one creating the action.

By the time I’m done, all I see is a bloody and thin drawing of myself. There are cracks in my face that give me a distorted look. I hate the fact that it’s how I see myself now.Ugly…

When I can’t bear to look at it anymore, I throw it on the grass next to me and then start another one. I feel like I’m possessed. The need to keep drawing myself with all my flaws on display is almost like a compulsion.

This one is more of the same, only my face looks like the wind is blowing it away, like I’m just wasting away. It’s exactly how I’m feeling. I push that one to the side as well.

I open the rum I brought with me and take a swig directly from the bottle. I take a few gulps of the liquid and feel the burn of it as it goes down my throat. I can feel the alcohol pooling in my stomach and it burns. My stomach grumbles and I can’t remember the last time I ate a proper meal. I sigh, another thing that’s going downhill for me.

I keep drawing until my eyes start to feel heavy as exhaustion begins to weigh me down. This last sketch of me has me as a zombie—half of me is pretty while the other half of my face is missing an eye. My cheeks are hollow and my smile is all the way to my ear.

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