A Dress Never Worn

November 10, 2009
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A dress never worn is something I wouldn’t count as a dress. Just one broken piece of a shattered life. At least that is my life, that is my dress. The scars of my past and present could not be ignored. If I never started, then I wouldn’t be in this mess.

I just couldn’t stand it. All I could think about were the rumours the whispering, the pain I was feeling, the pain he must be feeling. I cried and cried until my eyes burned and my shirt was soaked with salty, wet tears. I paced around and around trying to figure out what to do, how to convince him not to hate me. I went upstairs to the bathroom and leaned against the counter. Everything was so confusing. It was like my brain was a 100 piece puzzle and the real world was 1000. Then suddenly, harmoniously all the pieces came together. Without hesitation I knew what I wanted to do, correction, had to do. I ran down the two flights of stairs the separated me from the basement and flung myself into my father’s office. When I ran in I looked over at the desk. I knew where it was I just had to find in in the mess of stuff on top of the desk. I finally came across what I had rushed down there for in the first place, my fathers Exacto knife. I put the rest of the cluttered stationary and tools back where I had found them, except for one thing, the extra knife blade. It was shorter than the one in the plastic casing but just as sharp, maybe sharper. I quickly ran up to my bedroom and closed the door tight. Then I took the small blade in my hand; held it for mere seconds before pressing it to the skin on my wrist. I felt a quick pain but it was suddenly overcome by a tingle that pulsed through my veins. The tingle slowly became sharper as a thick red liquid oozed out form beneath the blade. It felt so good I did it again and once more following that. I never had the intention of suicide on my mind, just the need for a release. I suddenly felt like a great weight had lifted from upon my quivering shoulders as I pressed a wet towel to my wounds and drifted to sleep.

The next morning is when I remembered the high, the rush, the realise. I wanted it again. No I needed it again. So I got out my blade and did two more cuts, on the underside elbow. It felt so good but I knew I should stop. I decided not to do it the next day. I made myself the promise that I would wait for a whole week before my next cut but I couldn’t resist and decided to do it again. I knew couldn’t make it so obvious that time; someone would be bound to notice. I decided next time I would cut somewhere different than my wrists or arms, and see if I could get the same rush.

That night, before I went to bed it was time to cut again. This time I placed the blade against my leg. I was only going to make it a short one but then that same pulsing rush kicked in and I knew I had to make it last for as long as I could. The cut came to be at least three inches long and much deeper than the one on my wrist. Either way I bandaged it up and like the night before, fell asleep.

Boys are just boys right. They should mean nothing, but wrong, they don’t. They mean everything. When I first met Cole I had no idea what I was getting myself into. But now look at me. I am lying in my bedroom floor, crying my eyes away. Pressing a blade deep into my skin. I just lied there, watching the blood ooze from my arm. What could have brought this upon a happy teenage girl you might ask. I have no idea. I wish I knew, I wish I knew how to answer your question, because it is also my own. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do in order so stay in touch with this world. Sometimes life can’t be completed without it.

I was never truly sure what life was until I met him. He completed me, but from one bad choice I let all of that slip away, and now I am left with nothing. Not one trophy for me. To represent what has happened. But what can I say. I do not deserve the feeling of remorse. I hurt him in ways I can not express. He said he forgave me but who knows. It is not his fault I was unfaithful. It was all mine.

I don’t know why I started, why I did it, or why I had become so obsessed. Like I said, he is just a boy. I do not understand myself. Why I can’t let go even though I am the one doing the damage. I cheated, he forgave me. I wanted him to leave, and he did. But now, I want him back. Why would I let myself lose him. I just do not know.

Now I stand alone. My only company a dress. One I will never get a chance to wear. I wish my mistakes could be fixed but now I leave you. My story is not over, it has barely even begun but I will not lead you into that. I will leave you with this to think about. If you love something, never let it go, hold it forever until forever feels like yesterday and you are in a world full of joy and energy. Until that day, hold on tight.





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