Demi Lovato My Savior

[1] Gift Of A Friend

Every day, people told me to kill myself. Every day, I was tormented and tortued beyond anything I could hold. Every day, I was forced to repeat this miserable pattern over and over again.

I stared numbly down at the blood on my thighs; the blade in my hands.

Was this really the only possible solution? The only thing that I believed could fix things?

Yes, it was. Or, at least, it had been, for as long as I could remember.

It could be worse, I tried to comfort myself, absentmindedly tracing the previous scars with the tip of the blade and trailing blood all over my thigh. I had money, a roof over my head, food when I wanted it; I should be grateful for what I already had.

I shook my head at myself as I pressed the blade harder down on my thigh; the only path to let my pent up misery and anger out.

Memories clouded my mind, making me believe that there really was no other way to stop the pain. This had been what I'd always had done, and it seemed like the only thing I'd ever do.

It brought more than I'd expected when I had first started. Relief. Numbness. A source of distraction.

I knew it was wrong. I knew, but I couldn't control it. And I didn't want to. It helped, and I would probably never stop. It wouldn't lead to imminent death, if I was careful not to cut into a vein, and that was probably all that mattered.

To me, at the very least.

I was done crying for now. The physical pain had washed everything else away. The memories of the bullying, my father. It was getting too much, and this little piece of metal was practically the only thing that could take it all away.

I pulled my towel off its rack, wincing as I dabbed at the blood on my wrist. Now maybe this was one part that I didn't like.

Once the cuts stopped bleeding, I threw the towel into my laundry basket, then continued out my bathroom and into my room.

Staring at the magnificent furniture and the soft carpeting, I tried to comfort myself. Maybe my dad wasn't that bad, after all. I mean, he did get quite a lot of money saved up from back when he used to work, and God knows what job it was that made him this much money, but I had a nice room, at the very least, of which he had gotten interior designers to decorate, before he had changed.

And, by change, I meant going from being quite a nice dad to the worst damn asshole in the world.

But it doesn't matter, I told myself, as I sat on my bed, pulling out my phone. I would endure all the violence and the abuse for this.

My phone.

Well, it wasn't really the phone, but what was inside. Twitter. And, in Twitter, the only place where I felt like I really belonged. And that was in Demi Lovato's fandom.

I just think that she's such an inspiration. Having gone through everything she did; overcoming her eating disorders and winning the battle with her depression and self harm issues. Demi's the only reason why I haven't just ended my life, once and for all.

If there ever were to be a definition of perfect, it would be her. And, no, it wasn't because of her flawless face, or her amazing voice, but the way she pounded the ass of all the negativity she received in life. She wasn't perfect, and she knew it, and so I loved her all the more for it.

And then, three words on my Timeline caught my eye. Three words that suddenly made my day a thousand times brighter.

Demi.