achanceofsun
Help. We all need it, right? So why is it so hard for us to ask for it? The thoughts that we keep to ourselves, that we never let out, are destroying us from the inside out. We're out own worst enemies and we hate it. We hate ourselves. For everything that we put ourselves through. For not being good enough for anyone. For not being who we want to be, for losing ourselves. We just want to be happy. We didn't know life would be this tiring.
I'm instantly aware of the light shining above me. My silver charm bracelet is digging into the skin on my left wrist. Strands of my long, blonde hair are sticking to the back of my neck. There's an itch that I just can't seem to scratch in the middle of my back. My socks don't match. My cheeks are now a light shade of pink. My eyes aren't as perky and bright as they once were. My thoughts are anywhere but at the task at hand. I can feel the people around me judging my appearance. I'm alive. But sometimes I desperately wish I weren't.
I'm instantly aware of the light shining above me. My silver charm bracelet is digging into the skin on my left wrist. Strands of my long, blonde hair are sticking to the back of my neck. There's an itch that I just can't seem to scratch in the middle of my back. My socks don't match. My cheeks are now a light shade of pink. My eyes aren't as perky and bright as they once were. My thoughts are anywhere but at the task at hand. I'm alive. But sometimes I wish I weren't.
I watched his back tense up, his muscles flex briefly before turning around to look at me. His eyes were dark brown. Not in the friendly, inviting way, but in the mean, dark, mysterious way. Making you wonder what you don't know about him.
The people on the cover stare back at you, judging you. With their perfect hair. Their perfect bodies. They're unblemished faces. Their flawlessness staring right back at you. You close your eyes, trying to catch a break from the thoughts captivating your mind. You finally can't take it anymore and throw the magazine at your door, sick of comparing yourself to someone who isn't even there.
They say that if you really want to live, the first step is to move out of your comfort zone. But that's the thing. So many of us are just surviving. We're not living. We do what we need to to get by. We don't do anything more, anything less. And to me, that is sad. Because I don't want to just float by in life. I want to change the world. I want to do so much with my life. I just don't know how.
A bank is a place where you invest your money, but when you think about it, so is life. You choose where your money, goes where it's spent, who you spend it on. Just like life, you choose where you go, who you spend it with, what you spend your time doing. So choose your banks carefully.
Pop! I push the pencil through the crumpled piece of paper, making a small hole. Pop! Pop! Again and again, puncturing the thin piece of paper that reminded me so much of my own skin; easy to pierce through.
Look at the razor blade in your right hand, now look at your left wrist. Look at your smooth, unmarked skin. The pale blue veins running through your arm symbolizing life. Proving that you are alive and living. Now ask yourself if it's worth it? No. It's not. So put the razor down. Throw it out the window. Flush it down the toilet. Throw it into an ocean or a lake. Don't start this addiction because once you do, it will never leave. Even if you do stop, it will always be on your mind. So do yourself a favor for me. Never pick up a razor blade with the intentions of self harming yourself.
A chill runs though my spine as I feel my long fingers grip the icy doorknob. I slowly turn it, hoping the door won't squeak when I open it. With my luck, it lets out a eerily loud screech and sitting inside the dark room is a man dressed in dark red. His skin is as pale as a ghost and his teeth as white as fresh snow. His dark black eyes meet my blue ones and fear runs through every part of my body.
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writing since 2012 · 20 entries · 16 days shown up
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