The looks started coming at me a year ago. The looks of pity. I got used to them within a few weeks, if I didn’t, I’d go crazy. I didn’t want to be treated as a fragile object and pitied. I wanted to be left alone to heal, but I knew that that would never happen for me. Not when everyone knew my story, my past.
I always heard the not-so-subtle whispers, “knife...-blood everywhere…sick.”
Those whispers always made my mind go back to last year. The year when I snapped. Whenever the memories flashed through my mind I’d push them away, but this time I let them flow through my mind.
I was found on the floor in my room surrounded in a pool of blood. The mirror that I had hung on my door was smashed and the shards were lying under and around me. The knife was on the floor in front of me on the floor with blood dripping off of the blade. I remember that all I wanted was to feel numb. I felt pain when I first cut my wrist, but as I kept going the pain deteriorated. I remember watching the blood seep through my white sweater and just rocking my body on the floor wondering what had become of me. I got up and smashed the mirror in a fit of anger and frustration. Anger at them for ruining me and frustrated by my lack of backbone. I sank down on the floor, not caring about the cuts in my feet from the mirror and made a few more slashes before dropping the knife and rocking myself again.
I pushed the memory of the hospital out of my head.That was the worst part, the attention and scrutinisation was endless. How had I let people do that to me? I pulled the sleeve of my sweater up and looked at my arms, the scars were prominent on my arms. They were thick and pink and everywhere. I didn’t have an opinion anymore. The scars on the outside of my body could not compare to the ones left inside. I had completely broken inside and I would never be the same. The memories would stay with me forever, and the insecurity would never be conquered. The bullies didn’t even recognise me anymore though. I frowned to myself, they had already forgotten about my breakdown. They would go on with their lives and not remember this chapter.
I pushed my sleeve down again. I didn’t know if I was wrong to hurt myself, I didn’t want to think about that anymore, but I did know that it was a lot easier to be them. At the same time, I knew that I would go through it all over again instead of joining them. I shut my eyes and made a promise to myself. I would never join the ranks of the Predator.