A Story Told in Scars

The sky is blue, but the curtains are drawn;
Her bedroom is dark, lonely, suffocating.

Her shoulders tense, she takes a breath
The events of her day play over
Like a silent film, flickering
Excruciating pain
Without a soundtrack.

She sighs to herself
Unable to pick out exactly what
Went wrong. So many things stacked up
They cease to exist, leaving a mess
Of unexplainable depression.

She can’t pick up the phone,
Can’t call her friends, because what would she say?
She doesn’t even know what’s wrong.
Her thoughts become paranoid
And she’s sure they’re all frustrated…
Annoyed at her for always being sad—
Mad at her for something she must have done.

Tears roll down her face
And she doesn’t want to do this, but she must—
She has to! It’s all she has left.
She needs to see her anguish, feel it—
Only physical pain can justify her sadness.
As long as she can see her scars
She can explain the tears to herself.

Drowned in sorrow and saltwater confusion
She gives in to her longing.

She knows it’s wrong, and already she feels regret
But it’s too late now…the decision is made.
She scars until she can breathe again--
Lines that cry for help, lines that cry for guidance—
Lines that just cry.

The feeling of relief that overwhelms her
Intertwines with the regret and sadness
Like a double helix of loneliness;
Protein chains of guilt
Holding fast to her battered arms.

Flat on her bed she lies, eyes closed
Dreaming of the courage to rid herself
Of the fear she holds inside.