She sat in front of the tiny laptop, the room around her dark and empty… sharing the feelings she had herself. Outside the bedroom, a chorus of laughter roared up from the party that was ensuing. The blue of the television screen was her only light source, the screen displaying calmly that her movie had ended.

Nearly two hours ago.

Her eyes, once a glowing emerald had since dulled to a lifeless green, no longer carrying with them the luster of wonderment and youth.  Her world felt empty, her soul, shattered. And yet, that ache she so desired was gone.

Before, years before when the girl was hurt time and time again, a roaring ache deep within her heart screamed in agony every time, having her doubled over in pain and the tears unending down her cheeks. She would sit in the corner, away from all civility; hold her knees tight to her chest as if she could keep the breaking of herself together. She had prayed for the pain to go away, for it to stop tearing at her beating heart… and so it had.

Over time, with each passing hurt, the ache dulled… the shooting despair in her no longer crimpling her for days on end, but rather an hour or two, when those same eyes turned dark and misted over with a sense of loss.

And now, that same pain was no where to be found. Words that before would slice through her like searing metal through flesh now simply had no effect. She felt them, of course, only someone truly lost to the world wouldn’t feel, but instead, she just accepted it. The fact that she no longer denied others feelings and thoughts toward her bothered her slightly… she wanted that pain back in her heart. Wanted to curl up in a corner and cry, and blame herself, and pray over and over that she would become stronger. This new feeling, of acceptance, was unnerving. It was like she no longer had any connection to the world around her. People laughed, she would too, but that laugh would never reach her eyes. People cried, and she would feel their sorrow, but found she could not shed a tear for herself.

And when the pain left her… when words no longer shattered her being, she had turned to other resources. At first it was burning… the pain of the scolding water on her flesh, turning the peach skin a sickening tint of red and her body begging her to pull back. It lasted for a while, but soon, even her body stopped its cry.

She tried starving herself next. Going as long as she could without food to force her body to give in- a day was her first attempt. She had completed it, but was starved the following day and ate like the cow she was. Two days, she was becoming stronger at this game, eating very little on the third day. Day three became day four, and soon she could go half a week without food, and without feeling the side effects. This was all fine, because she started to enjoy seeing her body lose so much of its disgusting rolls and curves. But this game wasn’t meant to be fun. So she ate, to make herself fat again. To hate herself, and now she can never be happy. Her weight is always too much, too little, too big, too fat, too round, too ugly, too bumpy, too disgusting in every way. But that suited her just fine. She wasn’t meant to be pretty and admired… she had to be seen as ugly and disgusting and pitiful to those around her. But that still wasn’t enough.

Then the knife had come forth, a thin blade hidden amongst cloth so no one could see it. She would curl herself in the comfort of her tiny corner, bringing the blade back and forth along the back of her wrist. She wouldn’t cut to kill… that was even more pathetic then herself, but rather, she would cut to remind herself of her own weakness. She had found her tears again for a while, when the blade first cut across her skin. She had had to draw it along the flesh again and again to bring forth even a tiny bit of blood, a single scar. It had seared under water, and burned against fabric, but soon, it dulled as well. Now the knife no longer was meant to remind, but rather was used as a comfort.

I did wrong today… slice, slice.

I’m a pathetic friend… a horrible daughter… slice, slice.

I ruin everything I touch… everyone I’m near… slice… slice…

Her arm became riddled at one point with tiny lines, each with tiny trails of blood pooled within them. And she had stared at them lovingly, knowing there was a way to escape her body.

It sickened her.

And now, as she listened to the sound of others around her, and her eyes scanned the message in her e-mail once more, she felt she needed to find a new release. This e-mail said she was a miserable person… which she was. That she was a horrible friend … which she was. And that she was pathetic in every way… which was obvious. And she had cried, for a minute. Forced herself to shed a tear for fucking up again. But even that didn’t feel real. No. She needed to punish herself again. Something else had to be worse. Something else had to be done to make her beg for it to end, pray for forgiveness, and promise she would do better.

Promise she would do better.

She couldn’t do better.

She was pathetic.