Copyright, Dakota

I can’t feel anymore. I wish I could but I died, I didn’t mean to it just happened. Like when you’re pouring something and it spills. But when you spill something it’s easy to fix; what I had gotten myself into wasn’t as easy. I can’t really pinpoint the exact moment when I died, or really screwed up my life but I know it started when it was winter because that’s when all of these scars appeared on my arm. I’m not saying that I don’t know how they appeared or that it was like some magical thing that just showed up. I know how they happened each and every single crooked line. No one knows this but each one tells a story. It’s kind of like a timeline of hardships, breaking points, or whatever seems to add up to too much. It’s weird I can be perfectly fine letting all the big things that have upset me just pass by, but then one more thing could happen and no matter how small it could be it’s enough. In fact I’m starting to wonder what doesn’t qualify for a reason. Everything seems to add up and when I run the blade along my skin it washes the problems away. It doesn’t hurt; well not that much anyways, it’s nothing to cry over. Actually that’s kind of a lie, sometimes I cry, but that’s when I think about my past. Just thinking about the past and memories seems to push the knife deeper. I know that that’s not possible and that it’s my hand pushing down but it never seems like that when it’s happening. When my brother found out I cut myself I was drunk. So I just kept moving away from him and not looking him in the eye. I was so ashamed I didn’t want anybody to know. I told my friend because I was scared I couldn’t stop and then she told my brother. He said he understood and maybe he was worried I don’t really know, he made me promise I think not to do it again. And that’s how far my secret made it, from my two best friends to my brother. I can remember hating my brother for not letting me cut myself, I thought he would be checking my arm, but he never did. And slowly after a few months I realised he wasn’t going to, so I started to cut again. When I wasn’t cutting for those months I still felt the same empty, lonely, hopeless, numb I just couldn’t cut to feel alive I was a walking body, who had died behind her eyes. It’s so easy to tell people you’re OK that you’ve gotten better. They act all worried when they say, “you’re not cutting yourself are you?” The answer is so simple “no, I stopped that, I realised it was stupid” and voila they believe you because they’re too scared to see the truth. But that doesn’t bother me because it allows me to continue on. It’s just I don’t know, apparently I’m not empathetic enough. I think I have too much, I feel sorry for people and I really do care about them. It’s that I can’t show feelings, because when you do you’ve opened up to get hurt. Because you let someone inside of you, and that only lets you get cut, hurt. When I screw up which is a lot, it crushed me, I really don’t mean to get in the way of others or to affect their lives. I wish I could just sit on the sidelines and watch it all happen. Life itself just seems so Hollywood, like a movie and everything is like an illusive dream. You can relate everything to a scene in a movie, but what sucks about it is that you constantly wonder if it’s you feeling it or if that s what your suppose to feel. Everything is made to look so real these days, it makes me question everything. Nothing is the same anymore I can’t adjust quick enough to accept the fact that it’s just changed so soon already. I don’t believe people that often either, when someone says they love me, it’s hard for me to say it back and most the time when I do I don’t mean it. I just say it because that’s what someone who is normal would do. I wish I was normal, but I can t feel like everyone, but I can’t feel things the way other people do. They all seem so happy and I’ve lost that feeling and I can t remember what it feels like anymore. It’s all so lost to me, everything is lost to me, and every time I look around to see if someone is feeling the same as me, I know that they don’t, they seem to have the perfect grasp on life and everything for them is in order. And all I can do is slip farther into the eye of the dark shadow.


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