I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series, no all of those rights belong to J.K Rowling
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THE FAÇADE
Pain, blood, death. It encompasses her world. Taking over her mind. Haunting her life. Swallowing her into the dark abyss, no-one to help her, no-one to notice her, until all she could do is scream for help that would never arrive, because no-one heard her cries, no-one cared to look deeper, to see the real truth.
No-one hears her screams. No-one sees her deep despair. No-one looks past the mask she hides behind, no-one cares to try and look further than she allows.
It isn't noticed that her disappearances could mean more than 'rebellion', no-one thinks that the silence isn't more than nothing to say.
No-one thinks that the support base was cut out from underneath her to soon, no-one thinks that it may have been accelerated by shock and pain.
No-one will see past what she lets them. No-one thinks that the inability to ask for help could truly mean that she can't show weakness, for fear they would see how weak she truly is.
They thought it was simply for attention, they didn't understand, it had already caught her within it's grasp, with no-one to turn to, no-one to help her, until it was too late. It had taken over her.
She's hiding in her world with fields of paper flowers and purple skies filled with candy clouds of lullaby where nothing can hurt her, where she can hide from the pain, the horror intensified by no-one seeing, no-one looking, no-one finding, no-one caring.
She closes her eyes, hoping that she won't be haunted that night, she wakes, she knows nothing is the truth, nothing can help her, until she releases the last breath she has been holding for so long.
She dreams, a world where she is loved, where some one cares, where she will be caught if she falls, she wakes to pain and masks and the truth drives her to madness.
She cries out inside, begging herself to stop the pain, to turn away from the abyss. She screams not to hide, though they call to her. She cries to not turn out the lights, to never sleep and never be able to die.
Surrounded by fallen angels, whispering in her ear, beckoning her to death, before her eyes, at her side.
She tries to escape, should she give in, should she rise, forsaking all she's done, shall she begin, when she meets her end.
She knew she needed help, but couldn't ask for it. Her façade was so complete none saw past to the pain so close to the surface yet so hard to reach by those she trusted.
Her friends and family were as blind to see her pain as strangers were. No-one saw, she couldn't let any see, if her façade fell it could only be in the privacy of her room.
She would be safe In her room. Where her permission was to be sought before any entered, where she could hide from those who sought to destroy her, despite these being inside her mind.
Her room knows her secrets, it's her only safe haven. It witnesses the flow of her blood she releases from her arms. It sees the pain trapped inside. It is the only one who knows she is silently screaming for help.
No-one understands just how hard it is for her to gather the courage needed, all to often she is unable, all to often she is absent from life.
No-one knows, no-one knows how close she has come to killing herself. No-one knows the true extent of her agony.
No-one realises she has attempted suicide multiple times and has become intimate with the bitter regret of failure.
Hidden from the world, from prying eyes, the agony craves release. She can't ignore, she can't hide, she is forced to permit relief.
She obtains freedom from the pressure, from the pain, through blood, self drawn from her arms. This release is only gained when she is in great need of it, when that happens she could swear that it is tinged with black, releasing the darkness inside of her.
She was only 'happy' around her friends, the only guiding light in the dark. None of them knew how important they were to her, she never told the truth no matter how much they deserved, she wouldn't be able to handle their disgust.
She would be able to stave off the desire of ruin of her life by thinking of her friends, not wanting to harm them by her death.
She craved the end, unable to reach it, a never-ending chasm of pain and fear. No one could see, none could know the truth.
When some become suspicious, they will still not see, they do not know what to look for. She restores her mask each morn, each time more complete, more absolute. So none could see through.
They say that they worry, they say that we only want you to reach your full potential. They say you're a bright girl with your future ahead of you. They don't actually care, they just don't want their place of employment to receive a bad mark.
Her one true release was through music. The songs were of things she could relate to not frivolous things like 'love' and 'boyfriends', but of pain and loss of self. She could bury herself in the music, shut off from the worlds around and inside her.
No-one will ever see further than she allows, no-one will care enough to get under and discover the truth.
Those who are supposed to care, don't. The people who are supposed to give her support won't. She is unable to accept, she can't do what she needs to now, because of the lack of support when she needed it.
No-one looks further than the surface to find the root and cause of the problems. Authority figures become suspicious but can't discover why she does what she does, because she can't trust…
Those who should be giving support don't. Those who should have helped her though a dark point they knew about should have helped.
If she had the support she needed when she needed she may not have been struggling now. As it is she is struggling to even be happy.
She hasn't been truly happy for over a year, she feels little snippets of happiness, but only when she is with friends.
She locks the door, hiding in the welcoming dark, never looking back, knowing that they don't know how their words haunt her, hiding from them all. Losing her mind they only watch as her world divides.
She loses her identity
None believe that it is more than just that she is unwilling to work, they can't see the truth and they simply believe that she wants to shirk her work.
They don't understand and unless she can open up and tell them the truth they will never know.
She is caught in a vicious cycle of pain and sorrow. She is unable to ask for the help she needs, afraid of disgust and revulsion, unable to receive the support she needs so desperately.
If she doesn't open up she won't get the support she needs, they don't understand her because they don't know the truth about her.
She wears her mask to hide from the world, always depending on it to keep away her demons. For her it serves the same function as music, she allows it to blanket her keeping her truths hidden from herself and those around her. She buries herself so completely she can even begin to believe the lies she spins around herself until even she may not know what is truth any more.
She can't trust, she can't share the pain, afraid of rejection, never getting the help she needs.
Unable to complete that so desperately needing completed, unable to ask for the help so urgently needed.
She loves the rain, the tears she herself is unable to shed. Much the same way blood forms drops, she cries tears of red.
Her façade, so complete, so unbreakable, she can't help herself, she needs the pain, she needs the blood, she needs her only release, her only lifeline, her only strength against herself, her only saving grace from the unbearable pressure.
Left without for too long, she begins to feel that horrid emptiness inside her, that huge gaping chasm that only her own spilt blood and pain can help close, the only thing to help mask the loneliness inside of her.
With a new blade she is cutting at her wrist, just two strokes with medium pressure, she accidentally opens a vein, blood spurts, shocked, she quickly applies pressure to stop the bleeding but cannot release it. She is scared because she knows that it would be to easy just to remove the pressure, to let herself die.
She feels hollow inside, like nothing can shake her, like she isn't attached to anything and is drifting in the deep dark sea of her pain and depression.
She wants to die. Everything has built up on top of her and although they know it doesn't help and, still, no-one will give her the help needed.
Still no-one understands the pain she has hidden for so long. They don't realise that because of the depth of her depression she became obsessed with her work, that she now can only see one way out. Death.
They don't understand, and until she can find the elusive courage to open up and trust they will never understand. They simply believe that she can't be bothered but they don't look deep enough, they don't think that she may be clinically depressed, they would never believe that she cuts herself to relieve the pressure and pain. They would never be able to believe that she forces herself to not give up on life and cut deep enough to open veins and die. They would never be able to believe that instead of an addiction to alcohol or drugs she is addicted to cutting, to the pain and the blood, that precious release given allowing her to stay alive. If they knew what to look for they would probably be able to see, the façade isn't as deep as to cover up body language.
Self-harm and self-mutilation isn't understood. It isn't an attempt at suicide. It can take many forms including scratching, pinching, head banging, breaking bones, hair pulling … etc. but the most common is cutting; most often done at the wrist. It isn't done because the person wants to die; rather it is a survival technique, trying to find a way to cling to life. It can be as a way to convince the self that they can feel something. It takes over the person's life, just like any other addiction would. They may break free for a while but then the addiction re-asserts its hold. It is a desperate lifeline for some. The person is not always in the same state; some days may be good, some days may be bad.
However it isn't like she isn't hurting greatly inside, it can't be that she is deeply depressed, it isn't that she can't be bothered to go to school or do her work. No it can't be that at all. Everyone is perfectly happy, with perfect families and perfect lives. They are all just pink fluffy bunnies; never acknowledging the dark side of life. They think that just because someone may seem 'happy' on the outside means that that is all to it. But no, there is more than just the surface, people lie to hide the truth, they lie while everyone gobbles it up as the truth. People wear masks all the time, some rarely using them, some depend on them for their lives.
However, they don't care, they never did, they never will.
By Hermione Granger
Inspired by multiple songs from: Evanescence, Disturbed, Linkin Park, My Chemical Romance, 30 Seconds To Mars, Paramore, Lostprophets, Spill Canvas, Seether, Eminem, Fightstar, Nickelback, Snow Patrol, Bullet For My Valentine, Nightwish, Kelly Clarkson, Avenged Sevenfold,