Only Seventeen, But Tired

She quickly closes the bathroom door behind her, making sure to lock it, fighting back tears and still shaking from the most recent disaster.  Just one more thing in just one more day in what seems like a never-ending string of bad days.  Just one more thing was all it took to break her yet again.

She opens the drawer and pulls out the fingernail clippers. With the familiar, cool metal grasped tightly in her hand, she can already feel her body start to relax, to let go of the death grip it had on her heart and lungs.  She flips out the small arm of the clippers intended for nail filing and fingered the neat, semi-sharp point.  She rolled up her left sleeve and looked down at the cracks from all the times she’s been broken before.

A tear of white-hot anger slips down her cheek before she even feels any pain.  Her day flashes in front of her eyes, each harsh word, each mistake, each failure weighing on her like a brick on her chest.  She takes a deep breath and starts removing each brick, one by one, with quick, easy flicks of her wrist.

Once the bricks are finally unloaded and she feels like she can breathe again, she places her weapon back in the drawer.  She gently runs a finger over the short lines criss-crossing up her forearm, the bright pink a sharp contrast to her pale skin.  She pulls her shirt sleeve back down, feeling the mild burning from the fabric running over the newly raw skin.

She brushes her teeth without looking at herself in the mirror and heads to her bedroom.  She grabs her favorite stuffed animal and climbs into bed, still acutely aware of the warmth from her latest failure to cope.

She crawls under the covers, where no one can ask her or tell her anything.  Where no one can see her.

She crawls under the covers, where no one can hurt her and she cries until sleep comes and takes away her pain.

~ by Valerie Anne on 03/15/2011.

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