31 September 1996
I didn't make it. For the first time in seven years, I couldn't hold it together. I knew Harry was right about me needing to skip class, but I was so afraid of what would happen if father found out I bullied him into letting me go anyway.
I stop writing for a moment and rub some tears from my cheeks. My entire body is still shaking from coming so close to having a very public breakdown. About halfway through charms, I stood up – and without any explanation to either Harry or Professor Flitwick, I left.
Right now, I'm hiding out in the room of requirement, where Harry and I met last night. I just barely made it out of class, and even still, I'm worried that someone in the back may have seen my tears. I know (rather, hope) that Harry will come looking for me, but class won't end for another 20 minutes and he can't get out without appearing suspicious. I have my razorblade, and believe me, I've used it. Even still, I don't feel any better and I'm slowly starting to panic.
I don't know what's happening to me. Last night, with Harry, I actually started to feel a little bit better. And then, all I did was look at that stupid mirror and now I don't know how I'm going to make it through the week! I've never cried in class before. Never. ESEPECIALLY when there's no real REASON for it. That's the stupid thing. I don't even know what's wrong! All I'm sure of is that right now I just feel like I'm drowning. The thought of being around other people is the most appalling thing that I can even imagine right now. One look at the other Slytherins and the only thing I feel is hatred; anger. Everyone feels like an enemy, and no more so than those who know that something's wrong. Madam Pomfrey, for one, can go shove a potion's bottle up her ass for all I care; she has no right to interfere with my life. Nothing makes me more angry than false concern.
I'd rather you just admit you hate me and shut the fuck up.
We all know that when it comes to it, my suicide will mean nothing to any of these people. Not a single. Damn. One.
Well, maybe one.
I guess I'll never know.
Listen to me, talking like I'm sure. I mean, I can't say I'm NOT sure, at this point. Right now, it's pretty amazing that I'm even still alive. I just wish that, when I do die, I could stay and watch how everyone reacts. I wonder who would cry. Or who would laugh. Or… or who wouldn't even notice. My father, for one, he'd be outraged. He'd be embarrassed. He'd be ashamed of me. He'd mourn alright, but it wouldn't be for me. It would be for loss of the Malfoy heir. The family name. The family reputation. I bet he'd do everything in his power to spin the story. Make it look like I died by accident, just so he could show his face among his friends.
Tough luck dad. When I kill myself, I'll do everything I can to make my suicide as obvious a suicide as possible. Hell, if I could just improve in Charms, I could set my note to multiply at the moment of my discovery, so that everyone in the whole damn school would know that my death was anything but accidental. And I wouldn't stop there. Just so I could tear down father's whole hierarchy of power, just so I could RUIN my image of perfection, I would tell the whole damn world about my little eating disorder. I would tell them about my cutting habit. I would tell them just how much – just how painstakingly much – I sobbed and cried and screamed over their god damn perfect world!
After death, of course.
"Draco," you might ask, "will you come back as a ghost?" To that, I say "HA!" Why in the hell would I return – after death – to the world which I committed suicide in order to escape? No. No, I will not be coming back as a ghost. Who do you think I am, Myrtle? Someone so in love with misery that I wish to spend all eternity crying in people's faces? No. I'd rather off myself quietly (or kind of quietly), and slip into the dark abyss that is nothingness. Death. Real death.
Coming back as a ghost would ruin the whole thing. Fuck these people. They never did anything for me, anyway.
I hate how confused I feel about everyone. Some days, I want to stand up in the middle of the Great Hall, pull up my sleeves, and show the entire goddamn school what it is they've done to me. Other days, the idea of anyone knowing a goddamn thing about me makes me angrier than hell. They deserve to know nothing, and I want them to know nothing, and yet, I want to smirk maliciously at them all as they marvel at how DIFFERENT I am than they assume me to be.
I mean, all of this started because of them. I started cutting because of the way that they treated me, the amount of pressure that they put on me, and – of course – let's not forget dear old dad and his "punishments." Then, I started to make myself throw up. Not long after that, I stopped eating, and KEPT making myself throw up, just so that I could be even close to good enough. And then, even with all my fucking effort, I'm STILL not enough for anyone.
Definitely not for me.
I'm so terrified that eventually, Harry is going to see that too. I mean, he already has. I can guess a good quarter of my scars can be accredited to him and him alone. But what if – after all of this, getting to know me and trying to help me – he decides that I'm not worth his time? What if he realizes that "oh shit, I was right" and decides I AM the piece of shit he's thought I've been since childhood?
Especially right now. Right now I can't help but wonder whether after my little episode today Harry's going to decide that I'm not worth the effort. I mean, he gave me so much of his time and energy last night and I'm STILL losing it today. I know it's irrational to think this, but what if he thinks it's disrespectful to have a fit when he tried to help me? Am I supposed to be better now? There's no way he could think that, really, be even still. He doesn't even know that I'm cutting yet, how can I expect him to handle this? (Well, I'm pretty sure he knows about the cutting, but I haven't showed him and we haven't talked about it yet). Pretty soon, he's going to put together that he's in WAY over his head, decide he's crazy for ever having approaching, completely stop talking to me, and maybe even tell all the Gryffindors that Draco Malfoy is a head case. Then what am I going to do?
You know what I'll do. I know what I'll do.
My hands shake as I scrawl untidily all of my inner fears. Most of what I'm writing is crazy; I know this. Knowing that – unfortunately – cannot stop me from feeling it.
All I know for sure is that right now, I need him. I haven't even decided how much I'm going to TELL him, but I simply need his company. His presence may keep me from going entirely insane. Hell, maybe with a little time, I'll even earn the right to call him "friend." I've never had one of those before. Not for real, anyway. And I guess the best way for me to do that is to avoid laying my every bit of crazy on top of him at once. We'll work in to it.
God knows what will happen if I scare him off and he leaves me be.
Anyway, class is about to end now. I'm going to wash my face and try to pull myself together in the hopes that Harry DOES come looking for me. I don't want him to see me like this (again), and I need to change my shirt (this one's bleeding through).
Hopefully yours,
Draco