Hey guys! This is my first fanfic so please dont judge! I'm not exactly sure how this whole format will look either...
Mabels P.O.V
I lay on my bed looking up at the ceiling in my room. I then lift my arm, and pull down the sleeve of my sweater. There I saw scars, along with cuts from not so long ago, going all over my arm. I question when this habit started. Then I remember. It was after Weirdmaggedon.
The whole thing was my fault. If I wasn't so selfish and would've let Dipper be Ford's apprentice, I would've never given Bill the rift. It all went downhill from there. Dipper had to save me. Then when Bill was about to kill me Grunkle Stan had to stop him. Oh how I wish I would've died right there. But no, I live on.
No one knows about this. It's become a habit at this point. At this point my fake smile is my real smile. I don't get the point in existence. What is there to live for? I'm too ashamed as to what Dipper or my Grunkles would think if they ever saw me doing this.
Sometimes I think they'd be better off without me. Other times I think I'm being selfish in only what I want. I want to die. Dipper wouldn't have me holding him back. Grunkle Ford could finally have a mini him. Grunkle Stan wouldn't have to worry about me.
My vision then blurred as I realized I was crying.
Pathetic.
Crying was all I seemed to do these days. I then went to my only refuge. I lifted a broken piece of the wooden floor under my bed. I took out a small box. In it was a picture. A picture of me, Dipper, my Grunkles, Wendy, Soos, and Waddles. In that picture I was smiling. A real smile. Oh how I missed that Mabel.
I then lifted the picture to reveal two knives. They weren't kitchen knives. More like blades. One had some crusty crimson blood on it, while the other one was just cleaned. I took the clean blade out and raised my right hand above my left arm. I thought about what Dipper would think if he saw this. I then shook off the thought and pressed the blade into my skin. It was a burning sensation I had come to know so well.
To me the pain was worth it. Any time I was overwhelmed with emotional pain, I'd use physical pain to make it stop. It was worth it, if it got me to stop thinking about the emotional pain, even for a seocnd, it was worth it. After I made 3 long cuts I put the blade back in the box along with the picture, and put it under the bed again. I covered it with the broken piece of the floor.
I proceeded to go to the bathroom and wash my cuts. I made sure to put the water on as hot as it could go, because it made it sting even more, and made the emotional pain go away for a little longer. Once it stopped bleeding I put my sleeve back over my arm. I then went back into my room.
Some people say that once you find a reason to stop cutting you just stop. That's not the case with me. I think of Dipper. I know he'd be crushed if he found out. That alone should be a reason to stop right? Wrong. The bad outways my good and I find no reason to stop. Besides when any emotional pain comes, even if its a tiny bit of pain, I drown it out with physical pain.
Why can't emotional pain be the same as physical pain? Why can't it eventually heal? Maybe not right away but can't it eventually go away? Why? I ask myself the same thing. Oh well. Dipper's coming up the steps. Time to put on the fake smile...