Warning: This story contains self harm, anorexia, bulimia, and self image problems. I'm deeply sorry if this offends anyone, it's not my intention to be offensive. Also, I might be terrible at writing. I'm not very experienced with fanfictions, so there might be some ooc or plot holes here and there.

Hetalia and all of it's characters do not belong to me, and never will.

The world meeting wasn't exactly pleasant, but that was to be expected. For America could always foresee the constant ridicule the the other nations forced upon him. They probably should keep reminding me of how worthless I am, I deserve it. A sly tear had managed to escape from the corner of America's eye. Once again, his inner critic was ripping at his already deteriorating confidence. I should've known better than to express my stupid ideas. I can't believe how much of an idiot I am.

America had been drowning in self hatred for a few years now, and it was only becoming much worse. The depression had eventually become so terrible that the miserable nation was beginning to fall victim to hopelessness, a feeling the young nation had never experienced before. He missed not knowing what despair was. The despair was dreadful, and had to of been the heaviest, most painful burden of his life.

I put England in so much pain when I became independent, and I was too selfish to care. I was selfish enough to cause so many problems when I tried to be the hero. I'm no hero, I'm just an incompetent waste of space. The thought stung, even though it had occurred to him many times. A choked up sob escaped the nation's throat, as the harsh words echoed through his head.

After a long while of non-stop crying, America began to shiver. Wrapping a blanket around himself, and mumbled inaudibly, "Why must reality be so cold?"

After a few more moments, America whipped the blanket off and thought with urgency I need to drain all of this pain out! In a frenzy, he opened his closet to grab a small box, and dashed to the bathroom. Even though he was home alone, America still locked the door to the bathroom. It was just a natural habit he possessed, in case he had a visitor.

Slowly, America approached the sink as he glared at the mirror. He abhorred his own reflection. Every single cell that was present in order to show his reflection, unwanted, hated, despised. By no other than their very owner. As much as America had wanted to break the mirror, he instead took the anger out on himself. When he opened the box to take out the knife that was inside, he was finally able to start the session.

First he stared at the glinting of the blade, before slowly dragging the razor sharp edge lightly across his skin, but of course, not too lightly. Not light enough to stop the crimson blood from slowly dripping out. The never ending flow of tears that had threatened to pour out went away as soon as the pain from the self inflicted gash prickled on his arm. Compared to the emotional distress, the physical agony had felt so pleasant to the nation. The feeling was so addictive, he wanted to cut again. Again and again, until his arms were once more, littered with blood. While he savored the delightful feeling, he continued to absent mindedly draw blood into his skin.

The cuts became deeper, and deeper, until the procedure had finally been complete. America looked down at the progress he had made on his arm, deeply satisfied that all of his emotional agony was relieved from simply bleeding. I had only been doing this for a few months, and I'm already comfortable with it. America was aware that many people were against self harm, even he was against it, at least he had been in the past. But now I understand why people do it, I was just inexperienced.

Then America realized how exhausted he was. Since he was eager to sleep, he washed off the knife in the bathroom sink without delay. Usually he'd stare at what beauty he saw in his beloved blade for long periods of time, but now he wasn't in the mood. After drying the knife off with a quick wipe of a towel, he put it back in the box and dashed back to his bedroom, despite how tired he was.

After making sure that the box with the knife in it was in a well hidden corner of his crowded closet, America burrowed under the blankets of his bed. Eyes now closed, America thought to himself It's too bad I'm not a human, maybe if I was, I would be able to get rid of myself with some deep cuts. At first, he frowned at the thought, but then the smile returned at least I am still able to feel the pain from my cuts at all.

He laid there for an hour, most of his thoughts were neutral, mostly there in order to entertain himself. Before he had drifted off into a light sleep, he snapped awake when he realized that there was going to be another world meeting the next morning. Another stupid meeting just to get ripped on! Maybe I shouldn't go! With an annoyed sigh, he spoke aloud, "But I know I'm going to have to, whether I want to or not."

America looked at the clock in his room, and produced an annoyed grunt when he saw that it read two thirty-five in the morning. He scowled, "Great, not only am I going to be reminded of my incompetents, but I'm also going to have to force myself to stay awake in an exhausted state!"

The nation was not a fan of forcing himself awake. Sure, he could drink coffee, but America had put himself on a strict diet, and that meant that coffee was entirely out of the question. Sighing once again, America removed his glasses before he would forget to do so when he fell asleep a second time, and set them next to his clock. Curling up into a more comfortable position on his bed, he closed his eyes and mumbled to himself before falling into a deep sleep, "Maybe some light exercise will help me stay awake in the morning."

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