Long Way Down

Chapter Two

My mother was torn. Each day after my father's death consisted of laying in her bed for hours. I was constantly checking on her to see if she was okay and needing anything, and each answer was a distorted "I'm okay." Of course this was a lie, and I wanted to do whatever I could to bring my mother back up again...mentally and physically.

I tried to help myself, too, which was a huge struggle. I cried myself to sleep and awoke everyday with a wet pillow.

The most important thing I could do is to stay positive. I knew that my father would also want me to move on with my life, so that's what I eventually did.

This morning, I woke up and wiped my eyes. I to a long look around my bedroom and started to pick up the trash on the floor, such as food wrappers, empty water bottles, and wrinkled tissues. I then made my bed and walked over to my closet. I grabbed a pair of distressed light - washed jeans, my black Converse, and a black cropped - sweatshirt. I went into my bathroom and simple stood for a good two minutes, trying to figure out what I came here to do.

I raised up my sleeve and brushed two fingers along my cuts that destroyed my wrists. "No," I told myself. "Katherine, you can't do this." I had been clean for a few days, and I slit my wrists when I first found out my father had died.