If only to find happiness..

She felt the turmoil inside her heart, feeling like a thick sludge that she couldn’t get around. Seemed like some days all she wanted to do was escape. She wanted to get out of the glass she was trapped behind, watching everyone else live while she was stuck in place wishing something would happen to her that would make living feel worthwhile. She hates when the tears fall because it makes her feel weak. Weakness isn’t something she wants to associate with.

She feels like even in a room of people she is alone, with no one around to express an interest in her personal pain. She envies happy people, or people who know how to cry, how to express the emotions they feel. She’s afraid the moment she feels happiness it will disappear. She’s  afraid to love anymore, because of the past. She’s afraid if once she starts to cry she won’t ever stop. So she turns to the only thing she’s ever found solace with. She walks to the bathroom with the overwhelming feeling in her stomach, the need to feel and the will to live and love.

 She chokes back a sob, because after all what does crying solve? It relieves nothing , she just wishes that she could cry harder. She struggles with the same decision every time. She can’t control the strong needful urge to do this, she feels like sometimes all she needs is the threat of ending it all, the pain as she cuts into her own flesh, the blood trickling onto her thigh. All those things make her feel alive, She closes her eyes and takes a breath knowing that soon everything will feel fine again. 

The act lets her know that she’s able to feel, the hurt is washing away as the first droplet falls to the floor. Cut after cut she watches the blood as it slowly make a small pool onto the floor. It becomes an addiction, like a drug you depend upon and need to have near at all times. It washes away the bad things, the things you want to let go of but can’t ever seem to outrun. The love she’s never had, the love she’s often sought in the wrong places. The people who have promised and ran at the first sign of distress. She knows she can depend on the object in her hand to make weight of the world go away. 

As a single tear falls onto her thigh mixing with the fresh wound causing it to burn , Sitting there in the floor she wonders if  there is a person out there strong enough to help someone such as herself. To make her see the beauty in things she cant change, someone to help her embrace the turmoil she feels and turn it into something special. Someone to hold on to her and keep her from this state, to help her learn to cry, to find happiness, to teach her that not every good thing comes with a price. 

She decides that tonight those things aren’t going to happen so she pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them she rests her head on her knees and imagines that she’s anywhere but in her bathroom floor holding a razor in her hand.

Author's Note

I had no idea what Type or Genre this was..

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Cutting, drinking and drugs are ways to hide emotions. Don't help too much. Blind us for a moment till we awake weak and tire. A powerful story. I like the internal conversation and trying to figure something out. The Genre could be many things. Life will test us often. Better never to show weakness. Can't allow the small things to screw us up. Description and strong words made this story come alive. A outstanding story.
Coyote

[Nancy]

Thank you for the comment, it means a lot for someoen to like this story