The aftermath

I'd been staring at it for nearly an hour now. Turning it over and over in my fingers, it was cold and sharp and the thought of it suddenly scared me. I'd been thinking about it for months, and I'd finally been pushed too far. "That's it," I thought. I squeezed my eyes together tight, and pressed down as hard as I could. I can remember the sudden sharp, horrible pain...but I carried on. The pain no longer hurt. It was a different kind of pain, and it was better than the dull ache I carried around with me.

The blood leaked through the sleeves of my jumper, and I knew this was going to be harder to hide than I'd imagined. I hadn't planned this far ahead. I didn't know what to do. I left my jumper to soak up what was left of the blood, because I figured I couldn't just ruin another one. I didn't have many clothes, and if I carried on the way I was going, I wasn't going to have any. I felt a huge wave of guilt for the stains I'd ruined my jumper with. Nanny Sue tried her hardest to buy me and Ellie clothes, and here I was ruining them out of my own selfishness.

"What the fuck is that?!" Dad spat. Oh no. Oh no, no no. This is what I'd so desperately tried to hide for so long. There was no excuses I could make. I should of stayed upstairs. "I'm sorry. I...I don't know what to say Dad. I'm sorry. Please. I've just been so depressed and I didn't know what else to do" I pleaded with him. The expression on his face told me I'd "gone too fucking far this time." I turned hoping he wouldn't follow but I didn't even make it to the stairs before he grabbed my already burning wrist and yanked my sleeve up over the scabs, catching a few and causing them to bleed. Again. My arms were a mess due to months of "handy-work" and I'd only just realised how disgusting they looked. "If you're going to fucking cut yourself Kirsty, at least do it properly" I just stood waiting for him to say something else, I couldn't talk. I didn't want to. Instead, he let go of my sleeve, turned around and walked away. I didn't know what to think, how to feel. He hadn't cared, not really. He'd only bothered to make me feel even more pathetic than I already did...but maybe I was being selfish. He was grieving too...and all I was doing was putting him through more pain.