S E R I N E
Yes, two years earlier
Dear Diary
Instead of writing a letter you'll never receive, why can't I just write into this book I haven't written in since I was- what, 14?
Yes exactly.
Today makes it another day that I haven't spoken or seen her. It's been tough. I thought it gets easier once you've let them go but man was I wrong. Everyday without her is just a reminder that she's never coming back and it hurts. It really does. My dad, another person I've continued to pray for even though the doctors saw no hope. It's been a couple of months now, it get harder and harder.
Losing Sarah and losing my dad? Have mercy on me, please, dear God. I don't think I could take any more deaths in my life. In the midst of her death, Sarah's, I promised her that I would be happy. I'd do justice for the life she herself, left for me. It was sure harder than it seemed because there was still a load on my shoulders. That I can't seem to get rid off.
I've considered therapy. Thought about it and my first appointment is tomorrow. I'm about to let another stranger into my life- I hope this isn't one of my mistakes.
- Serine
I shut my journal with a soft thud. That had been my first entry since four years ago. In those four years I had confided in painting. I remember every time I wrote an entry it would be like, two sentences or less. I never really wrote a lot, it was only today that I let my brain decide whatever for my hand.
I thought of going back to journaling- maybe it'd be good for me. I slowly opened the journal, from the very beginning. The very first time I wrote in it, I was 12 years old.
October 2nd was the date.
·Every bone in my body has fallen, like even I couldn't stand being inside of me any longer.
Can I leave me?
October 10th
· I'm weak. Not a lot of words needed, I'm just weak.
I turn the page over- a lump already forming in my throat.
November 21st
· I kept quiet.
Through every scream, every cry, every tear, every compliant, every one of my words, every fight with myself, I kept quiet.
November 30th
· I hate myself.
December 25th
· I hate Christmas. It's the time of the year that is a reminder, I'm lonely.
December 31st
· Lonely, but not alone.
I flipped a bunch of other empty pages- remembering I wrote my entries on random pages.
January 1st, the new year.
· I thought I'd be okay by now. Even though I've proven time and time again, I'd be the same ol' same.
ps.
happy birthday to every body this year in advance. Enjoy it, or you'll regret it.
January 9th
· I'd like to say goodbye to universe. I've been waiting to go.
January 19th
· yay. back to school.
January 25th
· am I ok?
No, hehe. lemme laugh about it.
April 10th
· hey who believes in zodiacs? I do.
July 6th
· it's cold outside
I'm cold inside
November 15th
· All I feel is pain. Is there anybody who can help.
November 20th
· I cried again. I cried and they didn't listen.
December 1st
·You can hear me but you refuse to listen.
January 1st
· I'm 14. Cool huh?
February 21st
· I've said please, I've said stop, but I still hear their voices, I still feel their finger tips. Somebody help me.
June 2nd
· I will smile again.
WHATEVER MONTH.
·I will be happy again, I won't give up.
And that was my last entry until now. I sigh closing the book. I've always had to deal with continuous pain. Attempted suicide but somehow was interrupted or saved. But sometimes I was trying to escape. Sometimes it wasn't suicide- it was me escaping for a few hours. Whether I'd was sleeping in a bath tub of water, or I slept with scars I created- or it was simply drugs.
I've always wanted an escape. Since I could rest in peace. Literally.
I stand up feeling sick. I throw the journal on top of my bed and barge into my bathroom- kneeling down to empty my gut. For help, I stick my index finger to the back of my throat and I could feel it stirring up inside of me. I swallow a white pill that was in the box, next to me.
"Don't hurt yourself,"
I hear her voice. I drop my head down as it erupts. I cry after.
This is literally why I don't eat.
Nobody is too blame but me, that I'm bulimic.
I hear someone open the door and I already knew who it was. Since nana was out, shopping for some groceries- it couldn't be here because she had just left. Only one other person had the spare key.
My throat hurts and I accidentally choke as I sob. "It hurts Levine," I whisper. "It really does,"
"Shh," she hugs me. "I know, I know," the way she said her last two words proved she was crying.
"But one day is one day, we'll all heal," she reassures me.
YOU ARE READING
The Victim
Mystery / Thriller|SUTON| n. The approach of death or the end of something <> "What did I do to deserve this?" He chuckled at my question before saying, "You were born princess." She bathed in her own tub of blood, And he watche...
