What can I say, I've had a bad day and bad days make me angsty. This is a
one shot, I hope it's not sad.
DISCLAIMER: none of it's mine, please don't sue. ~*~
I watched myself die when I was younger and have lived in the shadow of what used to be since then. Maybe not physically, but spiritually. And I didn't go to a place with clouds and angels and the dog that died when I was were eight. Where I went it's black, and it's cold here. The worst part is that there's no door, or I can't see it because there's no light.
Who would have thought the Billion-Dollar Princess would be down on her knees, trying to get some higher power to listen to her problems? Shawn Micheals said that he always prayed when things got bad, but it's different for him. He believes in this. I don't. Finally I gave up. God's not shining any light in my black room. There still isn't a way out.
I want to give up; I've had enough. I know there is a bottle of brandy in the cabinet at home, and I have a bottle of Prozac in my bag. No one would care. Hunter left me earlier this year, and he's not coming back this time. I don't even feel like working anymore, and the WWE is my life. Was my life, I guess I moved on, I just haven't realized yet. Then I reconsider: Pills are too dramatic, not me.
From the church, I catch a cab and go home. I hate it here, this is my hell. I was never one who could stand to be alone, hearing the echo of my feet on the floor. I tried getting a cat; it ran away, like everyone else in my life. I left a Bible on the couch, a few pages folded down. I laugh as I read it over again. And all of a sudden, I'm not laughing anymore. I'm crying, but not from happiness or anger or pain, from not knowing what else to do. So I sit on the couch and cry.
When I clam down, I wonder down the hall into the bathroom. I strip off my clothes that are soaked from the cool rain and turn on the hot water to fill the tub. Only the hot water and it's a big tub. Soon the water is boiling hot, but I don't car about the pain or the burns. I climb in all the way and more tears come. Already some of my skin is starting to blister, but I don't care. Before I get my hand wet, I turn on the CD Player with a remote control. Beethoven's Fifth Sympathy.
As the music begins to build, I take a razor blade out from the package. I play with it for a few moments, and cut the tips of all my fingers on the left hand, so they bleed slightly. I start to think maybe I shouldn't so this, but it's too late. I always was determined and stubborn.
I slice my left wrist diagonally, cutting open all the veins. It hurts more than I thought it would, but I welcome the pain. It's the first thing I've truly felt in seven months. As I start to get woozier, I make one sloppy cut on my left wrist. I laugh a little as the water surrounding me turns red. Soon, I'm too weak to keep my head above the boiling water and sink below, but before I do, I hear the answering machine click on.
"Stephanie? It's Shane. Look, I'm really worried about you, will you call me back when you get this. We should really talk."
Sorry Shane, I won't be calling you back. I'm going into the black room for good, maybe I'll finally find a door.
~*~
I'm not really expecting any reviews, but they will be appreciated if you do chose to review.
DISCLAIMER: none of it's mine, please don't sue. ~*~
I watched myself die when I was younger and have lived in the shadow of what used to be since then. Maybe not physically, but spiritually. And I didn't go to a place with clouds and angels and the dog that died when I was were eight. Where I went it's black, and it's cold here. The worst part is that there's no door, or I can't see it because there's no light.
Who would have thought the Billion-Dollar Princess would be down on her knees, trying to get some higher power to listen to her problems? Shawn Micheals said that he always prayed when things got bad, but it's different for him. He believes in this. I don't. Finally I gave up. God's not shining any light in my black room. There still isn't a way out.
I want to give up; I've had enough. I know there is a bottle of brandy in the cabinet at home, and I have a bottle of Prozac in my bag. No one would care. Hunter left me earlier this year, and he's not coming back this time. I don't even feel like working anymore, and the WWE is my life. Was my life, I guess I moved on, I just haven't realized yet. Then I reconsider: Pills are too dramatic, not me.
From the church, I catch a cab and go home. I hate it here, this is my hell. I was never one who could stand to be alone, hearing the echo of my feet on the floor. I tried getting a cat; it ran away, like everyone else in my life. I left a Bible on the couch, a few pages folded down. I laugh as I read it over again. And all of a sudden, I'm not laughing anymore. I'm crying, but not from happiness or anger or pain, from not knowing what else to do. So I sit on the couch and cry.
When I clam down, I wonder down the hall into the bathroom. I strip off my clothes that are soaked from the cool rain and turn on the hot water to fill the tub. Only the hot water and it's a big tub. Soon the water is boiling hot, but I don't car about the pain or the burns. I climb in all the way and more tears come. Already some of my skin is starting to blister, but I don't care. Before I get my hand wet, I turn on the CD Player with a remote control. Beethoven's Fifth Sympathy.
As the music begins to build, I take a razor blade out from the package. I play with it for a few moments, and cut the tips of all my fingers on the left hand, so they bleed slightly. I start to think maybe I shouldn't so this, but it's too late. I always was determined and stubborn.
I slice my left wrist diagonally, cutting open all the veins. It hurts more than I thought it would, but I welcome the pain. It's the first thing I've truly felt in seven months. As I start to get woozier, I make one sloppy cut on my left wrist. I laugh a little as the water surrounding me turns red. Soon, I'm too weak to keep my head above the boiling water and sink below, but before I do, I hear the answering machine click on.
"Stephanie? It's Shane. Look, I'm really worried about you, will you call me back when you get this. We should really talk."
Sorry Shane, I won't be calling you back. I'm going into the black room for good, maybe I'll finally find a door.
~*~
I'm not really expecting any reviews, but they will be appreciated if you do chose to review.
