Before you guys read this, I just want to clarify that this is fictional. I made this up.
She hears her phone buzz while it is sitting on her desk. She has a text message from him.
“Send me a pic?”
She takes her shirt off, stands in front of the mirror, snaps a photo, and sends it to him. He sends her a picture of his dick in return. She feels absolutely nothing upon seeing it. Her phone buzzes again.
“Can you send me a pic of your pussy?”
She takes her pants off, snaps the picture, and sends it. A few minutes later, her phone goes off again.
“I just got off to you,” he says.
The next day, she is feeling down. She is lying in her bed, lifeless. Her head is filled with dark thoughts. She feels herself going into the bad place. She feels her spirit being drained away from her. She feels her body sinking into the mattress. She picks up her phone and texts him.
“Can you come over? Today is a really bad day.”
“I can’t keep dropping everything for you when you’re upset.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“You know, I was happier when I didn’t know you.”
Later that day he texts her again.
“Sorry about what I said earlier. I’m an asshole. I’m a terrible person,” he says.
“You’re not an asshole. It’s okay.”
“I should have been there for you. I told you that I would always be there for you, and I hung you out to dry. I’m so sorry. You have every right to hate me. I keep letting you down. You should hate me.”
“No, really, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” she assures him.
“You know, you’re allowed to be mad if you want to be.”
“I know. I’m not.
A week later, she sits on the floor in her room. In front of her is a razor blade. She tries to decide whether or not to slit her wrists and bleed to death. She decides to cut her left wrist, but not enough to cause serious damage. She watches the blood creep out of her arm, and then she gets paper towels. She doesn’t want to get a blood stain on anything. She doesn’t want to ruin anything. She isn’t worth it.
She calls him. He answers.
“I think I want to die,” she says.
“I’m busy right now. I’ll talk to you later.”
He hangs up. She cuts into her body again, but on her calf this time. As the cut bleeds, she imagines all the bad being drained from her.
She gets a bottle of pills and a bottle of vodka. She sits back down on the floor and places them in front of her. She tries to decide whether or not to chase the pills with the vodka. She decides not to, but takes a swig of vodka to numb the pain.
The next morning, she wakes up to a headache and a text message. The text message is from him.
“Don’t kill yourself.”
“I still haven’t decided whether or not I want to,” she replies.
“Why would you want to?”
“Because I’ve been fighting against it for so long, but it isn’t working. I can’t win. It isn’t going away, and I’m just getting weaker.”
“But you’re not fighting alone,” he says. “I’m fighting alongside you.”
Nobody had ever offered to fight alongside her before. She knew she couldn’t take him for granted. Without him, she would be alone.
A few weeks later, she’s at a party. The noise level is making it hard for her to focus. It’s so loud, and the noise won’t stop. Her heart is beating fast, the room is spinning, the people around her are fading away, and it is hard to breathe. She feels alone in a room full of people, and she wants to escape.
She finds an empty bathroom where she can be alone to have her panic attack. Without even realizing what she’s doing, she finds a razor in the room. She pries one of the blades out of it with a pair of tweezers, and she cuts her wrist. The cut is really bad this time. Seeing the amount of blood coming out of her arm makes her more alert. She can tell what is going on now, but she doesn’t remember making the cut in her arm. Regardless of whether or not she remembers doing it, the cut is bleeding a lot. It won’t stop, and it doesn’t seem like it will anytime soon. She calls him.
“I need to go to the hospital.”
“Why?”
“My wrist won’t stop bleeding.”
“Tonight’s a really bad night for me. I have to be up early.”
He hangs up.
She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t want to tell anyone about what happened. She tries to call her parents, but there is no answer.
She texts him saying, “I have nobody else to take me. Please. I would do it for you.”
“I’m watching a movie, and it’s raining outside. I’ll get soaked trying to come get you.”
She had been drinking, but she feels alright to drive. She knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t think of another option. The gravity of the situation has sobered her up quite a bit anyways. She finds her keys and drives herself to the hospital.
It takes all night for her to get her wrist fixed up. She has stitches put in her arm and is sent home.
By the time she makes it back to her room, her phone is dead. She plugs it in. After a couple of minutes, her phone explodes with text messages from him.
“Any other night I would have taken you.”
“Do you want me to come over? I’ll come over.”
“Actually, nevermind, it’s still raining.”
“I’m a terrible person. I should have been there for you.”
“You know what? I never said I would take you to the hospital, so I shouldn’t feel bad. You ruined my night by calling me up so late, and here I am feeling bad for you. You should feel bad for stressing me out so much. My life was better when you weren’t a part of it.”
“I’m sorry I sent that last text. I’ll come over, and I’ll stop complaining if you want me to.”
After reading all of his texts, she replies, “If I’m going to have to tell you to stop complaining about it, I don’t want you here. I’d rather be alone.”
“I’m coming over,” he says.
“No!” she replies. “I don’t want you here! Please DON’T come!”
She goes to sleep, feeling proud of herself for standing up to him. But that feeling is gone when she wakes up. She opens her eyes, remembers what she said to him the night before, and she looks at her phone. She has no new messages from him. He must be mad at her for what she said. What if he will never talk to her again? She’ll be alone. Nobody else would ever offer to fight alongside her, and she won’t be able to win the fight on her own.
She sends him a text saying, “I’m sorry about what I said, and I’m sorry I ruined your night. Please forgive me.”
He replies saying, “I’ve actually been seeing another girl. I think I’m gonna start dating her. You’re hot, but she doesn’t have your issues. It’s really stressful for me to have to deal with you.”
She starts to think about all of the weight that she had put on his shoulders since they had met. She was nothing but a burden to him. He kept her around so he could fuck her, but now there was someone else he could sleep with. He didn’t need her, and since she made him so miserable, he had left.
Then she thinks about the other people who have said they support her. She must be a burden to them too. Her unhappiness must cause others to be unhappy. Her friends and family must be tired of having her around, but feel obligated to talk to her.
She feels her anxiety rising. She is alone. She has no one, and she never will because she makes other people miserable. She won’t let herself be that kind of a burden to anyone else again. She is going to change. She starts to try and hide how miserable she is. She puts on a fake happy face for everyone. She will no longer be a burden.
She goes out with her friends, wearing a smile on her face. She dances and sings along to happy music like nothing is wrong. She wears bright colours, and she gets back on top of her school work. On the outside, she seems like a whole new person. But it’s all fake. She’s playing a role. She’s up on stage, playing the role of a girl who has all of her shit together. But this girl is a character; it’s not who she really is.
As she continues to hide her sorrow on the outside, it grows in her insides. She doesn’t express these feelings to anyone. Everyone around her thinks that she is doing so well because of how happy she seems.
As she continues faking happiness, he continues to text her. She repeatedly asks him to stop. Every text he sends her makes it harder for her to say no. She’s trying so hard to be strong.
“How come you keep ignoring me?” he asks. “I gave up so much for you, and now you’re ignoring me. Are you seriously mad at me?”
What the hell did he still want with her? She made him so unhappy, and he had a new girlfriend to sleep with now. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?
Then, one day, she snaps. She can’t fake the happiness anymore. She is so fucking miserable. She’s angry too. She feels like she is going to explode.
She goes to a club, makes out with three strangers in one night.
The next week, she has sex with two strangers.
“I can’t stay the night,” one of them says. “I have to be up early.”
“That’s fine,” she says. She’d rather he didn’t stay.
She doesn’t want to start anything meaningful. She wants to be used. She feels like that’s all she’s worth. Why would she look for more if she can’t have it? She’s hot, but she has too many issues for anyone to want her. If she gets too close to people, she will bring them unhappiness. If that guy had slept over, she would have ruined his night. She would prefer it if she had not even known his name.
And as her happy character dies, she still doesn’t want to show her dark insides. She refuses to be the reason anyone else is unhappy. She isolates herself. She stops going to class. She stops eating. She stops seeing her friends. She stops getting out of bed.
What if she killed herself? Sure, her friends and family might be sad at first. It would take her mom a long time to get over that. But, in the long run, everyone would be better off. They wouldn’t have to put up with her anymore.
And then, she finally chases the pills with the vodka. She will suffer no more, and no one else will suffer because of her.
A Functioning Headcase 