The Truth
Samantha
When I came home from school one day, I noticed how eerily quiet the house was. I decided that it was because Samantha was sleeping. Samantha was my older sister…you never met her, Alex. I don’t think you and her would’ve gotten along very well because of your clashing personalities. She was boys and shopping. You were music and writing. She was outgoing and everything that I’m not.
It was about two months after the bird incident and things were slowly going back to normal between me and Jess. She says she doesn’t know what came over her that night, and I believed her. I had to. After a few hours of the silence that was starting to really annoy me, I slowly crept up the stairs and to Sam’s bedroom door. I put my ear up to the wood and listened for any sign of life. When I heard nothing but the soft sound of her TV, I slowly opened her door and felt my heart drop. I let out a scream before collapsing into a dark haze.
I heard shouting, and my mother screaming. And then it all came back to me. Sam hanging from her ceiling fan, me screaming, my parents coming home and calling 911, my mom screaming for Sam.
Alex, I think you understand now why I screamed myself awake sometimes back then. There’s nothing I would love more than to skip this next part, but I promised you the truth, and that’s what you’re going to get.
I stumbled into the bathroom not sure if I was more high or drunk, but honestly I didn’t care. All that mattered was that the pain was gone, and replaced with a sweet nothingness. I gripped the sides of the sink and tried to keep myself from falling on the floor. I looked in the mirror and glared at myself. Who the fuck would want you anyway? You’re nothing but a waste of space. You are the reason Sam killed herself. YOU should kill yourself.
It’s obvious I didn’t kill myself, but for some time, I wanted to. I’m not going to lie to you, Alex. But, I truly think you were what saved me and destroyed me. Can I ask you something? Do you remember when we were sitting on your roof, looking at the stars and talking about everything and nothing? You asked me about…about the scars on my wrist? And you told me to not do that to myself anymore? And I just gave you a small smile and rested my head on your shoulder? Well, my love, I think I owe you an explanation. Those scars were not from myself, but it’s more complicated than it seems.
I sat in my bedroom with Jessie, who had my head on her shoulder and was trying her hardest to make me feel better. “Let’s play a game...” Jessie said after twenty minutes of silence. I gaped at her, not believing how disrespectful she was being.
“My sister just died and you want to play a game?!” I growled. Jessie’s lips turned up into a twisted grin. She turned and walked towards my door.
“Trust me,” She called over her shoulder. “You’re going to love it.” She was gone for about five minutes and when she returned, she was holding something behind her back. I raised an eyebrow and her grin grew wider. Finally, she showed the items that she was holding behind her back. Two shiny, sharp knives. I looked up at her, not knowing what to expect but not caring.
“Give me your wrist,” She instructed. I did as I was told and watched her slice my skin open. I flinched in pain but then the pain was gone and it was replaced by a feeling that I finally got it out. What “it” was, I don’t know. Jessie must have noticed this because she smiled when I looked up from my wrist and into her eyes. She handed me the other knife and held her wrist out as an offering. I repeated her actions until we both shared the feeling of bliss that was caused by the blade. I fell down onto my bed and Jessie did the same. I grabbed her hand and held it. My best friend and I sat in silence for a few seconds until we both started laughing, as if it was scripted. I don’t know why we were giggling, but I guessed it was about how fucked up we both were. Nobody expected Jessie and me to turn out like this, and I couldn’t blame them. When people described us, they would say something along the lines of “sweet, innocent, good girls”. Never would they suspect we would be in my bedroom on a Friday night, laughing like maniacs while bleeding from cuts the other made. Never would they suspect we would be so troubled. That night is what started my cutting addiction.
I hate that word, Alex. That’s how my therapists describe me and I honestly just wish they would say I’m insane. It’s simpler, and it’s not anything that I don’t know. You would never call me troubled, would you, my dear?
It was about two months after the bird incident and things were slowly going back to normal between me and Jess. She says she doesn’t know what came over her that night, and I believed her. I had to. After a few hours of the silence that was starting to really annoy me, I slowly crept up the stairs and to Sam’s bedroom door. I put my ear up to the wood and listened for any sign of life. When I heard nothing but the soft sound of her TV, I slowly opened her door and felt my heart drop. I let out a scream before collapsing into a dark haze.
I heard shouting, and my mother screaming. And then it all came back to me. Sam hanging from her ceiling fan, me screaming, my parents coming home and calling 911, my mom screaming for Sam.
Alex, I think you understand now why I screamed myself awake sometimes back then. There’s nothing I would love more than to skip this next part, but I promised you the truth, and that’s what you’re going to get.
I stumbled into the bathroom not sure if I was more high or drunk, but honestly I didn’t care. All that mattered was that the pain was gone, and replaced with a sweet nothingness. I gripped the sides of the sink and tried to keep myself from falling on the floor. I looked in the mirror and glared at myself. Who the fuck would want you anyway? You’re nothing but a waste of space. You are the reason Sam killed herself. YOU should kill yourself.
It’s obvious I didn’t kill myself, but for some time, I wanted to. I’m not going to lie to you, Alex. But, I truly think you were what saved me and destroyed me. Can I ask you something? Do you remember when we were sitting on your roof, looking at the stars and talking about everything and nothing? You asked me about…about the scars on my wrist? And you told me to not do that to myself anymore? And I just gave you a small smile and rested my head on your shoulder? Well, my love, I think I owe you an explanation. Those scars were not from myself, but it’s more complicated than it seems.
I sat in my bedroom with Jessie, who had my head on her shoulder and was trying her hardest to make me feel better. “Let’s play a game...” Jessie said after twenty minutes of silence. I gaped at her, not believing how disrespectful she was being.
“My sister just died and you want to play a game?!” I growled. Jessie’s lips turned up into a twisted grin. She turned and walked towards my door.
“Trust me,” She called over her shoulder. “You’re going to love it.” She was gone for about five minutes and when she returned, she was holding something behind her back. I raised an eyebrow and her grin grew wider. Finally, she showed the items that she was holding behind her back. Two shiny, sharp knives. I looked up at her, not knowing what to expect but not caring.
“Give me your wrist,” She instructed. I did as I was told and watched her slice my skin open. I flinched in pain but then the pain was gone and it was replaced by a feeling that I finally got it out. What “it” was, I don’t know. Jessie must have noticed this because she smiled when I looked up from my wrist and into her eyes. She handed me the other knife and held her wrist out as an offering. I repeated her actions until we both shared the feeling of bliss that was caused by the blade. I fell down onto my bed and Jessie did the same. I grabbed her hand and held it. My best friend and I sat in silence for a few seconds until we both started laughing, as if it was scripted. I don’t know why we were giggling, but I guessed it was about how fucked up we both were. Nobody expected Jessie and me to turn out like this, and I couldn’t blame them. When people described us, they would say something along the lines of “sweet, innocent, good girls”. Never would they suspect we would be in my bedroom on a Friday night, laughing like maniacs while bleeding from cuts the other made. Never would they suspect we would be so troubled. That night is what started my cutting addiction.
I hate that word, Alex. That’s how my therapists describe me and I honestly just wish they would say I’m insane. It’s simpler, and it’s not anything that I don’t know. You would never call me troubled, would you, my dear?
oH MY GOD I WAS HOPING SOMEONE WOULD GET THAT I LOVE AMHS
6/17/13