My name is Beca Mitchell, and I'm desperately trying not to relapse. Let me explain:
It started in 7th grade. I felt abandoned and alone. I felt I had no one to talk to. My "friends" didn't attempt to contact me, ever. My dad didn't care.
I don't miss the regret. I don't miss the pain. It was very rarely a pain thing for me...
When I first started, it was because I thought I deserved it, the pain. For being such a failure, a loser, and a burden.
It was mostly an anger thing.. Angry toward myself, towards others. Towards my dad.
Anger issues run in both sides of my family.. My mom loses control of her voice. My dad loses control of his arms.
I was embarrassed. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I used to think. "You're so fucking weak."
It soon became a release thing. Relieving piled up stress. Pent up emotions.
I miss the scabs. I miss rubbing them.. I miss the rugged feel of vertically running my fingers along my wrist. It was fascinating.
I want to. So badly. But I promised I would stop.
Sometimes there's nothing I want more.. I don't know what stops me. Maybe the stares.
People think of you differently when they see them. Some seem to think you're less of a person. That isn't true. Others offer their company, but I don't want it. I prefer to be alone.
I miss counting them, surprising myself with the amount. I miss the way they turn into pink scars when you pick at them. I miss the way they'd peel off with the tug of a sleeve.
I miss the blood. Oh god, I miss the blood. The way it would start in small dots, and then soon be trickling down your arm. Does that make me crazy?
I want to. So badly. But I promised I would stop.
I miss cleaning them, then hiding the evidence. I miss my blade. I have a double blade. I used to have a single blade, but I think my father took it whilst I was visiting my mother.
My mom bought me an amethyst ring when I was younger. Amethyst is my birth stone. The ring came in a silver box. I keep my blades in that box.
I miss doing it in different places. When my friends checked my wrist and never found anything. They assumed I quit.. It was my little secret.
I want to. So badly. But I promised I would stop.
For a moment, I stopped, and started smoking. That was in 8th grade. I still smoke, though it gets me into worlds of trouble. I haven't done it in a while, I don't know how long it's been.. I think 6 months? Winter is when depression gets me. Winter is when I usually give in.
I want to. So badly. But I promised I would stop.
I don't know if my parents know. I only see my mom a few times a year, how would she know? But I think my dad does, he would have to be blind to not notice. He hasn't confronted me about it. He hasn't gotten me the help I need, the help I crave. I've done it for almost three years, I'm about to go into 10th grade. How the hell wouldn't he have noticed?
I want to. Oh, I want to cut. So badly. But I promised I would stop. And that person I promised is no other than Chloe Beale.
