unsteady

consumed

the bravest thing i have ever done was live while all i wanted to do was die

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Kaycee

It had consumed her.

The everyday struggles were just too much. The pain she was feeling..this intense...this can't be right. This can't be it. Nobody can live like this, she thought, as she walked with her head down through the hallways.

"Hey babe," Gabe said, snapping her out of her thoughts as he snaked an arm around her, guiding her towards their one shared class, History. It wasn't a guide, although to everyone he cast glances at in the hallway, and everyone she looked up at, ashamed to meet their eyes, that it was. His friends bro-clapped him and occasionally cat-called her jokingly, causing him to get in a fight to again, assert his manliness, and she ignored it everytime. She used to adore the attention, just like she'd adored him.

Neither of them mentioned the angry red mark on her neck, not where his lips had been, but his hands had been last night, when he got mad at her because she wouldn't do it.

Come on, he'd said. Everyone does it. Then he'd tried to make her.

Stop, she'd said. Please. I'm not ready.

Well I am, he'd said. And he'd expected that to be the final word, but Kaycee had gently pushed him away when he'd come close, and backed up. He'd grabbed her wrists, shoved them down, and before she could say a word, his hands were slammed against her neck. Thankfully, he'd gotten distracted with a notification on his phone, from his side girlfriend, she was sure he had many, and left her alone.

Why wouldn't she break up with him?

The only thing more difficult than staying was leaving.

She'd tried to leave once, and he'd hit her. Straight across the face, and he hadn't apologized until she asked him if he knew she could bring him to court for that. He said it couldn't have been that bad because she didn't cry.

If he knew anything, anything at all about her, he'd know she hated to cry. It gave other people the knowledge, the sense that they won. She didn't necessarily want to beat them, but she didn't want to just let them win.

But that night, at home, she'd sobbed into her pillow, shaking as she sent up prayers, asking why her. I'm not strong enough, she got out. Please, let me get away from this.

But she hadn't. She was starting to stand up to him again, little by little, but she felt like it was a ticking time bomb, a game of Jenga. How long until he snaps again? One wrong block, and everything came tumbling down.

It had been hard to make excuses to get away from him. All of her old friends had hated her for staying with him, and deserted her. All two of them, anyway. So when she told him she couldn't hang out, he'd laugh and go "With what friends?" and he and his buddies would chuckle over it for the next hour, condescendingly. Oh Kaycee, he'd said, holding her chin, talking literally and metaphorically down to her. You're so funny, Kaycee.

Until her sister got sick. Then the depression got worse, the cuts got deeper, the periods in between shorter. The only good thing that came out of it was that he knew not to test her as much, and she spent all of her time with Kylie. Sisters were the only true friends you needed anyway.

She felt like it came in waves, threatening to suck her under and straight out to sea. She danced with the devil when she had the razor in her hands, but she knew never to cut enough to end it, just enough to make herself suffer. It was therapy, the kind of twisted therapy that healed through the breaking. The only kind she knew how to give herself. No self-love bullshit. Kaycee called bullshit on all of that. A face mask couldn't solve her problems. Hell, she had a real face mask. All her teachers saw her as the straight A student with a penchant for writing, her dance instructors saw her as too overcome with grief to continue without Kylie (which was true, if you didn't count that she'd quit because she knew people would notice the cuts and bruises), and her friends saw her as Gabe's manipulated armpiece.

She was all of those things, yes, but those things weren't all of her.

She used to see herself in the mirror as the little things. The brown hair, the eyes that weren't quite hazel, weren't quite green, and weren't quite brown. The dusting of freckles across her nose. The dimples. The short but lean dancer's frame. When she looked in the mirror, that's who she saw.

Now it was the depression. She saw it, eating her up inside, every single day a shadow of a girl who used to be a girl, and now was just lost. She saw the bruises he left on her skin, the dried tears from another visit with Kylie, the cuts she inflicted on herself, and most of all, the scars left on her heart, from trusting people too much, and having them let her down everytime. Her dad had left. Her sister had promised she'd always be there for her, and here she was, her final months. Gabe had turned on her when he found out she wasn't like the other girls. She valued herself, and he had diminished that value to less than a penny. And she had even given up on herself, even though long along, that had been her motto, to never give up, to embrace the individuality, and love what made you you, but now, she was just plain embarrassed and ashamed. Embarrassed at what she had become, ashamed at what she hadn't.

She was consumed.

It made her question if the one extra cookie was worth it. It made her resent herself for a bad grade on a quiz. It was the razor, calling her name as it slithered up her spine, making her reach for it time and time again.

Kaycee, it hissed. You need me, Kaycee.

Kaycee, the concealer she kept everywhere, her dusty dance bag she still hadn't unpacked, her dresser drawer, even her purse, called. Use me, Kaycee.

If she pulled down her sleeves, there they were.Running up and down her body like snakes, the self hate worming in the pit of her stomach. She was falling, and nobody could catch her.

Kaycee, they whispered. This is who you are.

AN: hi y'all so here i am, third story whoa. this is inspired by a few books i've read recently for a project i'm doing in psych, and actually some poems & journal entries i wrote when i was going through some horrible times like this myself. i never got to the point where kaycee is in this story, but the thoughts alone were physically and mentally exhausting.

DISCLAIMER: this book is going to deal with some crazy topics. assault, alcohol/drug use, death, loss, depression, thoughts, all of that. it's something i feel needs to be addressed, and maybe reading about people we stan going through it can help us realize that hey, if this is how we'd want them to take care of themselves, and we'd encourage them to get help and get better, we owe ourselves the same love and respect :)

seeing how "little" i really got into this topic with my other two stories, and how many of you beautiful souls connected with me through messages or comments, saying how you related or struggled as well really inspired me.

this one is for anyone who has ever struggled. your battle is so beautiful, and you are a warrior. God, whatever God you choose to seek, bless you. i'm rooting for you.

i'm always here to talk as well. my messages are always open.

and one last thing: feedback appreciated :)

all the love in my heart,

kally jean :)