*WRITERS WARNING: SELF HARM, DEPRESSION AND SUICIDE*
Numb.
Numbness snaked its way through Kurt's body as the metal razor sliced time and time again into his porcelain skin, each time getting deeper.
He felt nothing, nothing at all. At least it was better than feeling all the hurt that consumed his body on a daily basis. All the words said, all the shoves recieved and all the rejections. Feeling nothing was better than feeling all of that.
Cut.
Cut.
Cut.
Blood trickled down his arms from the scratches etched into his skin. He could hear his heart beating double time, practically jumping out of his chest. His head started to buzz. Voices were starting to emerge from the darkest corners of his mind. They started as whispers.
"Fag"
"Lady"
"Princess"
"Fag"
"Lady"
"Princess"
The voices got louder and louder, now screaming at him, blood pulsing through his ears. Cries of pain and hatred were echoing through Kurt's head. All he could hear were people screaming and crying. Blood continued to pour down his arms and the smell was sickening. The voices stopped suddenly. The insults stopped flying at him and Kurt let out a breath he did not realise he was holding in. He dropped the razor to the floor, the clink made by the metal coming into contact with the tiled floor was the only audible sound in the house. He sat there, back against the bath tub, just sitting in a pool of his own crimson blood. The numbness faded away from his body and was replaced by a sharp stinging sensation coming from his severed arms. His strange state of serenity had dissapeared as quickly as it came, and Kurt was just dragged back into reality, all his emotions flooding back to him. Life would be so much more simple if I just didn't feel, thought Kurt. Feelings as so over-rated, they do nothing but scare you. He let his head fall back against the cool metal tub, creating a loud clang that echoed through the whole house. Not that it mattered, nobody was there to listen anyway. Sometimes the cuts were purely due to the unhappiness the boy felt, but more often than not, he just wanted to be seen. He wanted someone to ask him how he was feeling. He wanted someone to cradle him close. He wanted someone to be there when he cried. But that wasn't going to happen, because nobody saw Kurt. Sure, people may look at him but they never actually seem to actually see him. Its ironic how those who are blessed with eye sight very rarely use it. His friends always arround him, but the cloud of sadness never seems to leave him, and everyone else never seems to notice. It feels like the air around him has disappeared and darkness is creeping up on him. He has slowly become invisible to his surrounding until he is barely even there anymore. He wants to stand up and scream at the top of his lungs. "See me. Please see me", but all that comes out of his mouth is air. Once again, the darkness creeps up on him and he can't be seen by anything but the voices in his head. They have become his friends, his only company. Their crude words are the only words that are spoken to him anymore. He revels in that. He loves that he has some attention at last. The voices love him, the voices cherish him. If they didn't then they would have left him already, to rot all alone in his pity. Whatever he heard, if it was chattering, laughing, screaming or crying, it had to be better than nothing at all. He had to get back to them. He had to hear their low drone's ringing in his head, vibrating through his whole body. He didn't want to feel anymore. Feeling did him no good. He dropped his had into the pool of blood beside him, and picked up the razor. He took one final breath before slicing the metal through the once untouched skin of his wrist. He felt the weight from his body diminish into thin air as his body became weightless. His eyes lids slowly slid shut, blocking out the blaring light that he has been seeing for too long, and replacing it with darkness.
Finally he was free of feelings.
Finally, he was happy.