I told myself I couldn't keep living the way I was. Hiding in my room. Crying every night. Feeling invisible in a house that never felt like home. If I was going to keep breathing, I needed something. Some kind of joy. Some kind of escape.
So I decided to try at school. At least there, I could pretend. At least there, I could smile even if it wasn't real at first. At home, nobody cared. At school, maybe someone would notice. Maybe someone would laugh with me.
I started trying harder. I laughed when others laughed. I joined in when I normally would stay quiet. I forced smiles until one day, they didn't feel so fake. For the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe I belonged, even just a little.
And then, there was him.
He wasn't the loudest boy. He wasn't the one everyone chased. But there was something about him. He made me feel… safe. And safety was something I hadn't felt in years. Around him, I could breathe. I didn't feel like I had to hide.
He looked at me differently. He listened when I spoke, even if I didn't say much. His smile made me feel warm in a way I can't explain. For the first time, I felt seen. Really seen. And I clung to that because I was starving for it.
I started looking for him everywhere. I waited for him after class. I checked the hallways just to catch his smile. He became the center of my day, the only thing that made me feel like maybe life wasn't so heavy.
I became attached. Too attached. I didn't know how to stop. I needed him. Every time I thought of how empty home was, I thought of him and the way he made me feel like maybe I mattered.
One day, it happened. Just us. No noise, no crowd, just him and me. He leaned in, and he kissed me. My heart jumped. I wanted it. I wanted to feel normal, like every other girl who kissed a boy and laughed after. But the moment his lips touched mine, everything inside me broke loose.
It wasn't him. It wasn't now. My mind dragged me back to the nights I never wanted to remember. To hands I never asked for. To pain I never wanted. My body froze. My chest locked. My hands shook. My breathing went wrong.
I wanted to scream, "Stop, please, it's not you, it's not you, it's my past!" But nothing came out. Instead, tears rushed out, and I pushed him away.
I had a panic attack in his arms.
He stared at me, confused, maybe even hurt. And how could I explain? How could I tell him years of pain in a few broken words? How could I let him see how damaged I was? I couldn't. So I cried. And he stood there, not knowing what to do.
After that, something changed.
The next morning, I walked to school praying things would be okay. I prayed he would look at me like before. That he would smile, that he would still see me as safe, not broken. My chest was heavy but hopeful.
But when I saw him, he didn't look at me. His eyes shifted away like I wasn't there. Like I was nothing. I tried to walk toward him, but before I could reach him, he grabbed another girl's hand. Right in front of me.
And just like that, my world fell apart.
It wasn't just him. It wasn't just that moment. It was everything. The rejection. The shame. The past. The loneliness. The feeling of never being wanted. It all crashed into me like a wave, knocking me down so hard I couldn't breathe.
I went home that day and locked my door. I sat on the floor staring at the wall. My chest hurt so badly I wanted to rip it open. I wanted to scream but no sound came out. And in that silence, my eyes landed on something sharp.
I picked it up. I held it in my hand. I pressed it against the inside of my lap where no one could see. And I cut.
The sting burned, but it gave me something else to feel. Something I could control. The blood came, and for a moment, the heaviness in my chest eased. For a moment, I could focus on the pain I chose, not the pain that lived inside me.
So I did it again. And again... I began to love it... It won't ever fail me... It never failed to take the pain away.... Unlike the way people had failed me
But not on my arms. Not where anyone could notice. I didn't want to explain anything to anyone... Because even I myself didn't understand... I couldn't even explain to myself.... Journaling didn't help... I couldn't find the right words without breaking down... Always on my thighs, hidden, private. My secret. Because I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want anyone to stop me. This was mine. My escape. My relief.
And every time the sadness got too heavy, every time I felt like I couldn't breathe, I would cut again. Because the sting was easier to understand than the emptiness. Because the blood felt like release. Because I didn't know how else to survive....Focusing on the physical pain felt much better than all the emotions swirling in my head threatening to burst... Because I knew if I allowed it I will drown too deep... Maybe I would end it finally... I needed a distraction... This felt much easier
I told myself it was fine. I told myself it was helping. But deep down, I knew I was just breaking in a new way... This was a new low
... If I thought I couldn't go any lower... I had just surprised myself