After the doo shuts and the footsteps die, I'm caught up in my own thoughts again. What they all say clouds my brain. It's a self-destructing flow. One after the other, hurting more and more. I don't want to listen. I don't want to believe them. Yet I swallow in self doubt. Images of how I should look, how I should be. That's not me. I'm not skinny, I'm not pretty. They make sure I know that. I look at myself in the mirror across the room. Who is she? What is she doing? She's not me. She's not who I want to be. That girl holds pills in her left hand, a blade in her right. She has bags under her eyes. Who is she? She takes the pill with a smile on her face. Cuts her arms with a glint in her eyes. Cutting deeper with a grin. Everything starts spinning, yet I keep my eyes on the girl. She's smiling. Why is she smiling? Darkness is taking over my vision. Who is she? All the pain I feel stops, and the last thing I see is the girl, smiling like she's free.
Who was she?
January 21, 2014