Sisterly Love

The thing about my sister, is that she is mean. Not only that, but she doesn’t realize that when she tells people these mean, horrible things, that they are affected by it. That what she says to me, makes me feel worse about myself. How many times have I cut myself over things she said or did to me? Too many. How many pills did I try to overdose on, July 1 2010? Over 40. That same year, I overdosed again on August 23. The second Monday in school. That same year, months earlier, I tied together a bunch of knee high socks, and tried to wrap them around my neck until I stopped breathing. I guess I’m not strong enough… Or maybe I just didn’t have the guts to do it. I relapsed on cutting. A lot of people might say that cutting isn’t a drug, not addicting, but you have no idea how you start to rely on it. The one thing that’s constantly there for you. Blood and a blade, or in my case, needles. Blades creep me out. Plus that leads to scarring, and that leads to getting noticed. People will ask “Where did that big scar come from” and you can reply with some lie, to cover up the truth, OR tell them, my sister is constantly telling me i’m worthless. Which leads to you NOT GETTING HOSPITALIZED? Clearly the first. So needles. I realized if I use a clean needle and don’t cut as deep as you would with anything else, no scarring. So, today. I ate my sister’s pita chips, which were mostly gone, and I had already had half the strawberries, and all the pasta, which of course means EATING DISORDER! Yay! I eat to wipe out feelings of loss, sadness, you name the “bad” feelings, and I eat. Anyways, I ate them and she got pissed. Started screaming about how I ruin everything, and show she was going to backhand me. Well, the second she left the room reached over for the sharpest thing in the room. A pair of cuticle cutters. So there goes the three months of being clean, no cuts…

Now, thinking time. What pushed me over the edge, besides my sister screaming threats at me? I was already eating, and am still hungry… So why? Lets see, this weekend, I was at my dad’s house. I was digging through my step mothers bathroom, looking for the face wash, when I come across HER old driving license. Her, being Aunt Cheri. You see, Cheri had killed herself a few years back, failing at first, and then jumping off the roof of a hospital. I just sat there, staring at her id. I already decided no more tears, so I held it in. Until today, where I am now staring at a bottle of my zoloft, wondering if I still have that stash from a few months ago when I stopped taking them for a week… Should I do it? Argument with the light and dark in me.
Light: You just passed, you are going to make new memories, forget the bullshit that happened. If you just dont take the damn pills.
Dark: But after the first try? No, you are a failure. And you always will be.
Light: What about the people who love-
Dark: Love? No one loves you. No one cares about yo-
And now I have zoned out of that… Well since it’s in my head, I guess I zoned back into life… But I cant do it. I will never have the guts to do what Cheri did to me. What I would do to my mom… So death? I guess it’s a no go. Bye for now.