Split Second
All I remember from that night is the split second of pain that came from my wrists the moment I slit them. I remember feeling numb after that. My mother came in screaming, calling me a faggot. God, I hate that word. It wouldn't have mattered what she called me if she had let me die, but of course the moment I try to die she remembered that I had emotions and that her words were driving me over the edge. Had. Past tense. Once the razor pierces your skin, you seize to feel anything.
She called the ambulance and I was rushed to the hospital. Damn. So close I came to freedom. To put an end to the physical and emotional abuse that I was put through each and every day, but the doctors stopped the bleeding and my life was saved. When I woke up the first thing that I felt was a slap in the face from my "loving" father. I immediately unhooked the IV needle that was attached to my arm and tried to stab myself in the neck with it, but the doctors came and my father and mother were taken away.
Fuck, how useless can I be that I failed to kill myself twice in less than 24 hrs? Anyway, that was over 4 weeks ago and now I'm at a shitty rehabilitation center, or how I like to call it, hell with people that think that can help you. Thanks to my grandma, who is the only person that doesn't seem to hate my guts I now get to spend as much time in here as I can until I'm "all better". Like that's ever going to fucking happen.
I sit in my crappy bed, with its crappy duvet, in a crappy room, inside a crappy building. Yet I'm not thinking about where I am but more how I got here. If I had only cut deeper, maybe they wouldn't have been able to ruin my death. Or maybe if my parents weren't so abusive and if I actually had a smidge of serotonin in my body then, maybe I could smile from time to time but there is no way in hell that's going to happen.
Thinking about serotonin causes me to turn my head and look at the clock hanging on the ugly brown wall on the other side of the room. 6:57. I'm supposed to get my new dosage of antidepressants in about three minutes. God, I hate those fucking pills. They are a lie. A temporary way of making me feel like I'm not completely broken. A stupid way of making me think I'm not slowly floating to the bottom of a dark abyss I can't get out of. My thoughts about not wanting to take the happiness bug are interrupted by a knock on the door. Time to fake it till I make it.
John, one of the nurses, comes through the door carrying a tray with a tall glass of water and two tiny blue pills on a napkin. He doesn't greet me with a warm hello or asks me how my day has been. He simply tells me to get my ass off of the bed and stand up. He hands me the pills and the glass of water. I am not planning on taking the drug. What he doesn't know is that I have gotten very good at hiding them. When he hands me the pills I make sure that the sleeve of my shirt is positioned so that the bitch can't see the pills fall into it while I "put them in my mouth". I'll get rid of them later. He makes me open my mouth, making sure that I swallow them and then checks my hands. What a dumbass, it works every time.
As he begins to walk out, and I return to my depressing solitude, we hear a shrilling scream, scaring me to the core. John looks scared in the doorway, shocked, looking down the hall, scanning for his safety. I don't blame him. There are some scary fucking people here. Broken teenagers that have not only hurt themselves but hurt others as well. I quickly get over it and turn to get into bed with no doubt that I will have another traumatizing nightmare about my past. John is still standing at the door. "What are you waiting for, John? You can leave now."
"Sshh" he whispers, "Don't speak too loudly he might hear you."
What the hell is he talking about? That question is cleared up soon after I heard a boy's voice yelling. It sounds like he's threatening someone. My curiosity get's the better of me and I slowly get out of bed and tiptoe to the door. As I stand next to John, I peak around the corner to see a teenage boy standing over a very beat up nurse, yelling profanities.
"This is what happens when you tell me what to fucking do, you little bitch!! Don't ever try and touch me again or I'll snap your weak ass neck!", the violent stranger yells. I have to admit that he is quite handsome. He has sandy brown hair and for some odd reason, he isn't wearing a shirt. His slightly toned body has scars and scratches all over it. He has a very defined chin and from where I'm standing (about 20 feet) I can still see his ocean blue eyes. Who is this stranger? Obviously, he is a patient here but I have never seen him before. Granted I never leave my room but I like to believe I know most of the people here.
Wow, he is stunning. I want to find out what his skin must feel li...STOP ETHAN! You are nothing compare to him. Look at yourself. Ugly, weak, and scarred. Why would someone that handsome want to date a piece of trash like yourself? You are worthless just like everyone said you were. The last time that you tried to date someone out of your league you got hurt, and for a good reason because it was all your fault that he didn't love you!
The negative thoughts in my mind caused me to yell " SHUT UP! You're wrong! Be quiet! There is nothing wrong with me!" They completely consumed me, I didn't notice when John told me to be quiet or when the handsome stranger was dragged away by the medical staff screaming and yelling.
