Feel Alive(Adopted By Mikey Way)

6~Shallan

This is where things get very serious. And I've warned you. ******Caution! Triggering scene!********

It's been a week since Mikey adopted me. It's been fine I guess. I think Mikey might have noticed that I don't eat. It's not that I think I'm fat it's just that I'm not hungry. It's been about four years since I've actually felt hungry. Miss Carlyle used to force me to eat, but I still hardly ever did. After my brother, Felix, died I stopped being me. I became someone else. A dead version of me. Everyone has tried different things to 'make me feel alive', but nothing works. I've tried some things too. I just want to feel alive. Is that so much to ask? The only things I feel now are pain and depression. I haven't talked much since Felix died either. What I have to say I say through poetry. Not that anyone ever reads it. Today I've been feeling particularly sad and depressed. I dig through my suitcase and pull out a small black bag that could pass as a make up bag and walk into the bathroom. I make sure the door is locked, before I sit down against the wall and a pull a small, silver blade from my bag. I pull the sleeves of my t-shirt and make eight lines on each wrist. I watch the blood spill off my arms and pool on the floor. Tears race down my cheeks, but they aren't because I'm sad or in pain. No they are because I'm ashamed that I am doing this again and angry that I can't feel the pain. I was doing really well and know I've flushed my progress down the toilet. I clean up the blood that has pooled on the floor and bandage my arms. I splash water on my face to make it look like I haven't been crying. I feel no more alive than when I woke up this morning. I sigh and walk out. I drop my little black bag into my suitcase and crawl back into my bunk. I grab my picture of Felix. We were twins. Before the accident. I should have been the one that died. And you know what? Not once have I ever gone to visit his grave. Two weeks before my tenth birthday was the last time I ever truly smiled. Now they're all fake. Not that anyone cares or can tell. What is wrong with me that no one ever cares or stays? Am I really that terrible a person? Maybe I have too much emotional baggage. No one will ever care about me. Maybe that's the way I want it stay. I don't even know what I want anymore. Actually I do. I want to feel alive.

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I was listening to The Light Behind Your Eyes while writing this and I got really emotional. I almost cried. This is a very important chapter. Also I didn't actually write any pf the poems that I will be putting in this story. They were written by a woman named Erin Hanson. You should look her up. I found her on Pinterist, but I bet you can find her in other places too. Please comment and vote. Thanks!

Savannah(-: