Work Text:
Tic-Tac boxes
Make me think of a sharpener blade.
I prised it from its plastic when I
Was thirteen.
You know those screwdrivers you get in
Christmas crackers?
Turns out
(Before kids started cutting themselves with them)
They made sharpeners with screws just big enough
To be undone with a Christmas cracker screwdriver.
The Tic-Tac box was an afterthought
Mostly because I suddenly felt a bit panicked at what I had done.
And also because thirteen year old me wasn't plucky enough to dig the blade deep enough into my skin
To actually draw blood.
I wrapped it in toilet roll
and shoved it in the box.
I have a draw for wires and stuff
It lives in there, now.
The worst part of it is that the first time I actually cut
I did it with a penknife, one of those little ones
I was given it for my tenth birthday, because my parents trusted me
(Apparently)
I remember being in the bathroom, and the cuts not bleeding so I pulled them apart with my fingers.
I remember being vaguely disgusted with myself.
I can never look in the mirror when I self-harm.
This makes me a coward in the same way that killing myself makes me a coward.
I like to think that I do have some sense of self preservation
But sometimes the kindest thing you can do to yourself
Is let go.
I'm fucking writing on my phone every night
At one am.
Because something in me is just a little too broken to be fixed
(By the real world).
I only wrote 66 words today. I feel like a failure because I can't fall in love the way other people do. I think my parents will never love me for who I really am, only the person they view me as. Somebody was crying in the bathroom yesterday and I didn't ask them why. I heard a boy killed himself at my school and I wished that could be me but
I know if I kill myself they'll bury me a girl. And I don't want my gravestone to have a name that doesn't belong to me.
I keep that Tic-Tac box in a headphone case in the top drawer.
Inside that case also are tablets, which I'm going to kill myself with.
I haven't got enough yet.
I told mama that I wanted to drink nail polish remover and she took it away from me.
I feel like a failure.
Because I can't fucking love people like everyone else.
And because when I imagine dying it feels like carving red lines down my thighs.
And when i imagine living it feels like dying.
And I feel like the only choice I can make is the one that sees this through.
(when i have enough pills i am going to kill myself.)