In the Rearview (5 page)

The lump forms

Making it harder

To breathe

Suddenly I can't see

Blinking it back

Before they threaten

To fall

A feeling of loss

Empty

And drained

Missing something

Others obviously don't

Why do the happy parts

Leave me the same as the sad

I may be a mess

I definitely have problems

But if I didn't have you

I'd be so much more chaotic

I don't believe

I could hold it together

Without you

Meagan took a deep steadying breath and held it until her lungs began to burn. She kept it locked inside her chest until she could see pinpricks of gray, then black, in her peripheral vision. Held it until she could feel the flames licking the walls of her inner tissue and muscles. She held her breath until she was sure she could not hold it any longer, and then she held it for a few more seconds.

When she let the pressure rush out past her trembling lips, the sound was audible and harsh. She fought a strong urge to suck in a big breath immediately afterward. Instead she forced the inhalations and exhalations to a slow pace.

Meagan breathed slow and deep.

She jiggled her foot over the side of her unmade bed without even thinking about what she was doing. Her hands shook more than she cared to notice.

She was nervous. Her anxiety was high, and she hated to admit it.

She didn't know why she still got nervous. Maybe it was just the anticipation or even the adrenaline running through her system before she started. Or maybe this reaction was a sign she should change her mind.

But if that was true, it hadn't worked yet. Red flags were simply ignored.

Distracting herself from the pressure she felt building deep within her system, Meagan turned the television on. It was late in the evening, her homework was done, and she was already in her pajamas. She should be relaxing, thinking about boys, or talking too late on the phone. Those were normal evening activities of an adolescent girl, but none were what occupied Meagan. In any case, she shouldn't be planning what was about to happen, but lately she had been doing a lot of things she shouldn't and neglecting everything else.

Meagan focused on the colors of the television screen as they flickered by in an attempt to calm her nerves. But it didn't work. When she realized she was getting nowhere with distraction, she listened to her each individual breath instead.

In and out.

In… hold, and out.

In and out.

She worked to steady her heart rate before she plunged into her task.

Finally, she felt ready to start, and she curled her feet into a crossed position on the bed. She reached to grab the small knife she kept hidden in her nightstand and held onto the sturdy handle. The solidity of it calmed her further.

Meagan pressed the cool metal of the blade to her soft flesh and unfocused her sight. She stared at nothing while she listened to her breath once more as it flowed in and out.

Then she moved her gaze to her wrist, and she watched as her skin flushed pink. A rush of mixed emotions flooded her system.

She had heard some people feel a sense of relief when they cut or hurt themselves. She never felt that, but did somehow feel better. She felt in control. She felt calm. But she also felt anxious and disappointed. In the end, it wasn't all good that came with this. Every time there was a small lingering sense of regret, which left her torn. But those feelings seemed to be mostly forgotten by the time she wanted to cut again.

She knew this was not something she should be doing, but she reveled in the sense of controlling her own life and each of her choices. So she continued with the cycle of emotions.

Meagan used the tip of the knife to scratch the skin of her wrist. She did not slice the flesh, but instead moved over and over a particular spot with the sharp point until her skin was torn, jagged, and broken.

She was often terrified of what she was doing, and this scratching seemed to feel safer than deep cutting, easier to control. It seemed like less of a problem.

She would use different items that were accessible. Once she'd used a pushpin, and even her own fingernails. There were several marks that faded with time between her mistakes, and she was happy knowing eventually they
could
possibly disappear completely, when she decided to stop. She would not have permanent scars as a mark for others to see and judge. At least not yet. The cuts weren't too deep yet. Of course, she didn't know what the future held, but right now time would heal her external wounds.

She would always have internal, emotional, scars though. Those she could hide, and she could deal with them later. There was always later.

She never hurt herself to watch the blood. Not once. She never cut to end anything. Never. Feel
ing better was all Meagan wanted; she wanted to be happier, but she didn't know how to do it rationally, and this counterintuitive action seemed to help. Somehow, and for now.

Meagan made several marks. She stopped when the pain became too uncomfortable. Once she was finished she put the knife back into her drawer and covered it with various papers. There would be no viable explanation if a tool such as this were found in her bedroom.

She eyed the bruised and torn skin on her left arm.

What a mess.

What a problem.

What a relief.

Whatever. She knew it was done now. Though she was always nervous before, and occasionally she was remorseful after, somehow she kept coming back to the option. She only stayed away for so long. Eventually it would successfully call to her loudly enough.

Tonight, however, she felt no guilt. She didn't regret her actions at all this time, and she was happy to realize everything felt okay right now.

Tomorrow she would need to wear long sleeves and ensure only the right sleeve was pushed up, no matter how warm she got.

Meagan knew for every action there was a series of consequences that followed, good and bad, and she didn't want to think about which set of consequences outweighed the other.

Tomorrow she could face the bad, but tonight she would sleep better.

She rubbed the pad of her thumb over the raw skin as she lay down to watch more television before falling asleep. And she breathed easier.

Do the fairytale

Love stories

Actually exist

Is there any

Perfect

Pair of souls

Can fate

Destiny

Kismet

Ever truly

Lend a hand

And lead the way

To your other half

Do soul mates

Truly exist

Because if they don't

The stories

We chose to read

And create

Are a colossal waste

An utter disappointment

A setup to fail

I dream for that

Fairytale

I dream of a love

That takes

My breath away

Leaves a ringing

In my ears

A race of my heart

A blush on my cheeks

A tingle in

My every sense

And every time

Reality can't compare

I turn my back

Believing in my

Naïve

But hopeful heart

That I too

Will someday find

A dream

Sneak through

The flitting perfection

Of sleep

Into a true love

That conquers all

Because no matter

How hard I try

I can't seem

To let go

Of my dream

For my own

Fairy tale love

That I know

I just haven't

Stumbled across yet

If I were going to die today

And I knew twelve hours before

I would have a lot to say

And everyone I knew would hear from me

I'd give apologies

And many thank-yous

I'd say I'm sorry

And say I love you

I'd take the blame

For anything I'd done

I'd tell you

How much I'd miss you

Kiss me please

Close your eyes

So tight

Squeeze my hand

Run your fingers

Through my hair

Keep me close

Show me

You care

Kiss me please

Once more

So I know it's real

I love you so much it hurts

I love you more than I should

And I can't help it

You hurt me time and time again

But I always let you back into my life

I love you more than I should

But today's the day

I try and stop

I'm lonely

Sitting here by myself

With people all around me

I'm in my own little world

And no one can dig me out

I have a wall around me

Hiding me from the rest outside

The wall keeps building

Day after day

With each

Put down, each nasty stare

It continues to build

Piece by piece

And I'm not sure if I even

Know how to knock it down

Anymore

But if you can find a flaw

A tiny crack

Take your chance

And begin to chip away

I need you to help free me

From my isolating wall

Or I'll forever be surrounded

By unknowing people

And lonely if not alone

The night of the storm

The window rattled

The wind blew

And rain fell

I ran to the basement with my TV and water

I clicked the set on

And flipped to the news

The thunder clapped

And lightning struck

As I shook

I was scared

I didn't know what to do

If it wanted to get me

There's nothing I could do to hide from it

I couldn't stop it

I fell to my knees and began to pray

I prayed for the life

I had tried to end many times before

I prayed to stay living

And I asked for forgiveness

That I may never receive

Rejection always stings

No matter how fleeting

No matter how dull

The pain is still there

The doubt still arises

The questions still form

It still always hurts

 

Dear Diary,

I'm not so sure I have complete control anymore, and that's scary.

This may have become more than I thought it would. There were only two people doing this before. But now it's transformed into a lengthy chain of events. Somehow this idea seems to spread from person to person, and I went from being one of two to knowing at least ten other girls doing what I do in some form or fashion. What once seemed like an acceptable solution now feels like a painful infection spreading or a disgusting infestation growing.

These new girls say they have similar feelings and a comparable pain, but I don't know everyone's exact reasoning for making this choice. I wish I knew what the breaking point was for all of these hurting souls. If I could help, I would. Do some of them have that relief I'm lacking? Do they get a rush? Or are they only gaining some control like me?

I wish I knew more about all of this mess.

My guess is when the ache starts to eat away at their insides, and they know someone who cuts, they start to think on the idea, just like I did. Their thought process probably parallels the one I had. They figure
if
it helps her why can't it help me too? And so the list grows.

And grows.

And grows.

It grew from one to two. From two to five. From five to ten. I wonder what will happen next…

I honestly hope it stops.

I'm not sure I want to see the exponential potential. I am starting to understand this may not be a healthy outlet. I used to say I knew it wasn't healthy, but then I only guessed. Now I fully get it.

Regardless of why I started, I don't want to see anyone else start down a road they cannot turn back from. That might not make sense to anyone, but it does to me. Just because I do this doesn't mean I want anyone else to. My own hurt feels so different than the hurt of others.