Thanks to Babe

March 24, 2010
By Anonymous

And broken glass feels so cold on her pale skin that started it all. Just the slide of cold broken glass, she bled and feels ok again. She’ll do it again when the time is right.
Everyday Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and then repeat. She bleeds and bleeds not caring. She scars herself and does give a shits damn, she just wants to feel good.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked
“Nothing!” she would scream
For 3 months she was the best actress in the world and then she cracked. The pressure was too great and everything she kept inside finally spilled out in suicidal intentions.
My name is Sweetie and this is the story of a young broken girl who tried to hide everything.
I was only eleven when I first slid apiece of broken glass across my arm to feel ok when I only felt sorrow. From then on I was caught in a torrent of depression and resentment. Every time I bled I had a reason to bleed and so I was then angry and depressed even more than what I already was. I hated everything and especially my mother. She could never shut up and I could never hold my tongue. Everyday was a shadow of screams and tears; everyday was broken, just as I was.
Three months went by like a slug and then finally I could not take it anymore. I had the intention to kill myself at eleven years old. So after another heart wrenching fight (with the person who I should have not been fighting with) I slid the piece of glass again. It bled and it felt great. I wanted her to hurt, to know how it felt to be me. So I walked down the stairs with a bloody wrist and my sleeves rolled up.
“I want to die” I said ever so calmly.
Then I was in a white room. Only three chairs and a plant were there. I couldn’t cry or scream I was just numb. They didn’t believe me. So then I was home. Then in the therapist’s office and then screaming and when I screamed I kicked and then I bit her. She screamed and I didn’t care. I got up and cursed at her. She laid there for a minute and then called him. I knew he was going to hit me so I wrote and then cut my wrist it wasn’t deep enough. I needed it to bleed out.
I was in the hospital again the same room different chair. Then I was asleep in bed but not mine, the physics’.
I was awake a zombie. They took my blood and tested me. I waited to leave but didn’t for two weeks. I never really wanted to go. I knew that the fights would never end. And so they medicated me to control my feelings. Then I couldn’t feel. I couldn’t feel real. I refused to take the medication. The fights haven’t stopped and the pain didn’t for a while either. Until Babe came to my rescue, Babe is always there when I needed him. Babe made everything ok. Babe made me happy. Babe made me real. Babe helped me create myself. Babe is love, my love.
Once my smile covered my tears, now it is real. I am happy… Most of the time. Mother and I still fight, but I am happy for ounce. Thanks to Babe.

The author's comments:
My boyfriend of what seems like forever changed my life forever. I call him babe.

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