HOME | DD

Description
As I am typing this, I'm laying on the couch. I can hear my husband reading our four-year-old son a bedtime story using silly voices.

Yes, this is all I ever wanted and more. Life gets better.

* * * * *

"Really, ________? What is wrong with you? You're failing school, you never want to come out of your room, and you're always wearing black. Stop being anti social. Go out and make friends. I'm sick of seeing you on that laptop of yours all day. Open up a book and study. I don't want to see anymore F's on that report card. And if I do, that stupid computer is going to be MINE. Also, quit wearing so much eyeliner. You're never going to find a boyfriend. They don't think that's attractive. Just wait until I tell all of this to your father..."

My mother finally shuts up. I slam my bedroom door behind her back. I lock it so she can't come back in. I hear her slam her own door down the hall. Finally. Some peace. I don't need a nagging voice yelling at me all day long.

I am seventeen years old. A depressed, self harming teenager. Everyday I wonder about just how painful it could possibly be to end my life.

I take off my long sleeve shirt. All the cuts on my arms are uneven and jagged. My skinny jeans come off. The cuts on my legs are similar, only longer in length. I look into the full length mirror. My eyes are bloodshot. Tears make it hard to see. But I still hate the person staring back at me.

All I want to do is cut myself. Peel off some skin. See some red blood. My parents banned any sharp objects I can cut myself with. Such as razor blades, knives, scissors, even pencils. The only weapon I have left are my own fingernails.

I scratch my arm until it bleeds. I cringe... but I don't stop.

* * * * *

I lay on my bed as I stare at the ceiling. My arms are throbbing and red. My fingers are stained in blood. My head drifts into the most unpleasant thought- death.

The memories of my suicide attempts are still so vibrant and real.

The rattling sound of the pills in the bottle as I was going to over dose myself.

The rough texture of the rope as I was going to hang myself.

The sight, smell, and sound of the ocean waves churning underneath me as I was going to throw myself off the high cliff.

That was my most recent attempt.

I couldn't do it.

Killing is so much easier than making life.

But...

I don't want to die.

* * * * *

High pitch laughter sounds through the family room.

"Daddy... stop tickling me!"

"It's not me. It's the tickle monster."

I close my laptop to look at the love seat across from me.

"Mommy!" Eren yells, running from Levi to me. He jumps on my stomach. "Oof!"

"Tell daddy to stop, mommy!"

A big smile stretches across my toddler's face. Those little, pearly whites. That is my absolute favorite sight.

Life gets better. Make sure you’re there to see it.

- the end ♥

Description
As I am typing this, I'm laying on the couch. I can hear my husband reading our four-year-old son a bedtime story using silly voices.

Yes, this is all I ever wanted and more. Life gets better.

* * * * *

"Really, ________? What is wrong with you? You're failing school, you never want to come out of your room, and you're always wearing black. Stop being anti social. Go out and make friends. I'm sick of seeing you on that laptop of yours all day. Open up a book and study. I don't want to see anymore F's on that report card. And if I do, that stupid computer is going to be MINE. Also, quit wearing so much eyeliner. You're never going to find a boyfriend. They don't think that's attractive. Just wait until I tell all of this to your father..."

My mother finally shuts up. I slam my bedroom door behind her back. I lock it so she can't come back in. I hear her slam her own door down the hall. Finally. Some peace. I don't need a nagging voice yelling at me all day long.

I am seventeen years old. A depressed, self harming teenager. Everyday I wonder about just how painful it could possibly be to end my life.

I take off my long sleeve shirt. All the cuts on my arms are uneven and jagged. My skinny jeans come off. The cuts on my legs are similar, only longer in length. I look into the full length mirror. My eyes are bloodshot. Tears make it hard to see. But I still hate the person staring back at me.

All I want to do is cut myself. Peel off some skin. See some red blood. My parents banned any sharp objects I can cut myself with. Such as razor blades, knives, scissors, even pencils. The only weapon I have left are my own fingernails.

I scratch my arm until it bleeds. I cringe... but I don't stop.

* * * * *

I lay on my bed as I stare at the ceiling. My arms are throbbing and red. My fingers are stained in blood. My head drifts into the most unpleasant thought- death.

The memories of my suicide attempts are still so vibrant and real.

The rattling sound of the pills in the bottle as I was going to over dose myself.

The rough texture of the rope as I was going to hang myself.

The sight, smell, and sound of the ocean waves churning underneath me as I was going to throw myself off the high cliff.

That was my most recent attempt.

I couldn't do it.

Killing is so much easier than making life.

But...

I don't want to die.

* * * * *

High pitch laughter sounds through the family room.

"Daddy... stop tickling me!"

"It's not me. It's the tickle monster."

I close my laptop to look at the love seat across from me.

"Mommy!" Eren yells, running from Levi to me. He jumps on my stomach. "Oof!"

"Tell daddy to stop, mommy!"

A big smile stretches across my toddler's face. Those little, pearly whites. That is my absolute favorite sight.

Life gets better. Make sure you’re there to see it.

- the end ♥