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Trophies And Reminders

By @LilyRavenclaw

A Pain That Was Better

She feels a thousand years old… but she is only thirteen. Just barely a teenager with so much of her life ahead of her yet her life is sad. Her life isn’t living at all. They made it that way. They made it so that life was hell. Life was actually dreadful to live. And so life is dreadful to continue living. Therefore what could be much worse? There wasn’t anything. Nothing could be. Death could could hardly be worse than life. Death would grant her freedom. Death would grant her life; because life was death… death must be life. And so death is the solution.

For a while, during her life that wasn’t living, pain sufficed. Pain was not death, but pain was like a noncommittal version of death. All this time she had thought maybe life could become living, because secretly she had always been afraid of death. But They had finally revealed to her that death was so much better. Her eyes had been opened… at last.

During her whole thirteen years They had abused her, ignored her and forgotten her value. By age six depression started to settle in. By age seven she drew the first drop of blood from her own skin. And at that moment it was satisfying. From then on she developed new scars, all up and down her forearms and thighs. Trophies. And for a while they sufficed. Cutting did not bring happiness or joy to her, but it did bring satisfaction, and cynical amusement. And for a while, pain was the only place she could go for peace. Pain was like a window to living. However, after a while the pain ceased to satisfy. So she cut more, but it made no difference. They had simply turned into reminders. Sick reminders of her suffering. And soon she realized a fundamental truth: Cutting was much like privilege that if done enough times, is no longer a privilege. Like eating candy everyday. At first the idea seems fanciful and at first it is enjoyable but once you’ve done it for as long as what seems like forever, one might want something new… something more. Cutting might be compared to an antibiotic that works if you use it periodically but if you were to use it all the time, the bacteria would adapt and begin to flourish once more. Thus the bacteria of life grew and flourished, watered by her blood and depression. Soon realization dawned on her. Pain was a glimpse of death and death was enticing, and death was tempting, and death was life.

She learned how to tie the noose online. Easily. Too Easily. It was as if the world was happy to help get rid of her. But weren’t They? They had only ever tormented her. Of course They wanted her to leave. And she is all too ready to oblige. A cynical laugh escapes her throat as she steppes out the back door of her broken home. she walks off the back porch as the door slams shut behind her. The profound bang of the closed door seals her fate. She leaves everything behind and there is no turning back. She is past the point of no return and it is far too late to go back to sleep. She walks forward into the woods, with the rope dangling in her hand.

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