|I'm not listening to these songs, but let me try
||[Apr. 1st, 2011|07:31 pm]
She sat looking at the impliments spread out before her. The usual tools; knives, a razor, a bottle of pills. If only she could get a gun, but she didn't want to traumatize whoever would find her body.
Who was she kidding? She could never drink enough to get the courage to end it. Something kept her clinging to life, but she couldn't understand why.
It was always, constantly winter inside her. The last time she had felt warm was wrapped lovingly in layers of thick clothes along with her sister. Her snowsuit was pink, her sister's, blue. They looked alike, but they were different in so many ways and enjoyed annoying each other.
It had been the first time they were allowed to play alone together outside. They had been forbidden from playing on the ice.
Her sister had always been good at doing things she wasn't allowed to do. She always had to have her way.
Even now Beth could see her, not as the child she always imagined her to be, but as an adult, it was like looking in a mirror at a version of herself that knew what it was like to be happy inside.
"You're not real." she told her, picking up the razor blade and trying to carve carefully into her skin, away from her veins. The blade slipped from her hand and flew across the room. She stared into her own angry eyes.
"Stop it!" she screamed. Her sister walked carefully across the ice. Backwards. She looked at Beth, smiling, two teeth missing from her mouth. Her laugh became a look of shock as she fell through.
"Is this how you waste your life! Like this! Constantly trying to die, when I want to live?"
Beth grasped her hand, holding tightly to it, her mittened hand was going numb, she tried to pull her back up even as she could feel her trying to pull her down.
"Every time I try to go to, where ever I'm supposed to go, I feel you calling me back here. I've watched you walk around like a zombie, never fully alive, never actually trying to live. Why?" she screamed, and Beth could feel the heat of that rage, that longing, a sadness so deep, matching her own, she couldn't stand it.
"You're not real." Beth said, reaching for another razor blade. She could barely even feel the pain. She hadn't felt anything since that February morning. The heat again, that rage, the slippery blade fell out of her hand. She wanted to roar with rage herself, but there was no anger inside of her. Only cold. Always cold. It could be the hottest summer day, and that's all she'd feel. She had gone to therapists. Nothing helped. She couldn't forget that last image of her sister, falling into the lake and her trying to join her before hands grabbed her by the waist and dragged her away screaming and fighting. She got loose and tried to run back to that hole only to slip and be knocked out.
Her first experience of death had been a hamster looking like it was sleeping, an upside down fish, her grandmother not getting out of her coffin to hug her and her sister when they were a set.
She couldn't believe this had happened to her sister.
She saw her in her coffin in a frizzly dress she would have hated. Beth was the one who loved frilly dresses. She wanted to curl up beside her liked they did after a day of fighting, of disgusting each other and being separated by their mother, only to cry until they were back together again.
She wanted to just climb beside her, wrap her arms around her and go where she was going.
"She's hurting in a way we just can't understand." Her father's voice had said as she lay in bed alone. He had scooped her up and put her between him and her mother. Cuddled between them, she still felt cold inside, like something she needed was missing.
She had even tried to jump into the hole.
"No." All the hot rage that was left of her sister said. "This is ridiculous. Why do you go over this constantly?"
"You don't know what it's like to have to live without you."
"Oh, really? I don't know what it's like? Do you know how badly I want what you have? To be ALIVE like you, breathing, blood in my veins, just living."
Warmth, feelings, longing, heat filled her body.
"What are you doing?"
Writing feels good. But this is very bad. Send me some opinions