shattered

chapter 11

"Think about the first time you hurt yourself. What did you feel?" Counsellor Park asks.

I wrack my brain... I was in pain. Everything about me hurt. My body hurt. My heart hurt. My soul hurt. Everything was screaming at me to stop all this fucking pain, any way I could.

Then I picked up the razor... and I felt powerful. For one moment I had control over everything to do with me. I controlled what my fate was. I controlled what was happening. No one could take that control from me in that moment. I was powerful for the first fucking time in my life.

"Powerful." I whisper. "I felt powerful."

I can feel everyone's eyes resting on me.

"Why powerful?"

"I had control. No one controlled my destiny in that moment but me. No one made the decision for me. No one but I, had any say in what I was doing. For once I had power. Even if no one was there to see it."

I hear the others murmer and glance up to see them nodding their heads. Yoongi's eyes are on me. His eyes are always on me.

"And how did you feel afterwards?"

Afterwards... after I had sliced my wrists, taken the pills? Or afterwards when I woke up in the hospital?

I glance at her quizzically, waiting for her to expand on the question. The whole room is silent as they think about what she wants us to say.

"After hurting myself, I felt... felt, euphoric. Like I was free of the burdens of this life. I felt like I was floating..." my voice trails off.

"And?"

"And then I woke up in the hospital, and I knew I had failed. I knew I was a failure. I knew I was a fuck up. My parents were right all along. I wasn't good enough. I couldn't even kill myself properly. I wanted to scream out in rage. In anger. I wanted to leave this God forsaken world, I wanted to die! I didn't want to fucking be here anymore; and some fucking asshole decided that they knew what was best for me, and they robbed me of the chance of having what I fucking wanted. Having what I fucking needed."

My anger is still seething inside me. I hate them. I hate the doctors. I hate the nurses. I hate my parents. I hate these fucking counselling sessions.

"______ you seem to have a lot of resentment."

I scoff at her.
"We all fucking do. We knew the path we wanted to take; and some fucking asshole decided they knew better than us, and they fucking robbed us of the peace we were searching for. The peace we needed."

I meet Yoongi's eyes. He knows what I mean. He knows what it's like. There's only one person who knows what I'm feeling now; and it's him.

The anger that is burning in me, burns in him as well.

It's been a week since we shared our stories; and I still can't get his out of my head. I never imagined someone who was so loved by millions would feel as alone as I do.

I keep my eyes on him, he seems hesitant to tell his story. Which isn't surprising. Having to bare your soul to someone you haven't long met isn't the easiest thing to do.

I want to reach out and touch him, let him know I'm here, but I can't. I can't touch him. Even if he now knows my story, I'm still dirty, and I don't want to make him dirty.

I'm listening to him. And his voice is perfect. He is perfect. He is hurting so much. Why does no one notice it?

"It was something like 2am. We had finished practice, and everyone had gone back to the dorms hours ago for food and sleep; but my mind wouldn't stop. It wouldn't shut up. I tried to write, I tried to play something, but it didn't work. Nothing was working to quiet the voices in my head. They kept telling me that I wasn't good enough. I wasn't a dancer, I wasn't a singer. I was making the guys look bad." Those damned voices torment him like they do me.

"I wasn't good looking enough, my personality wasn't good enough. I was never going to be good enough. So I went for a walk to try to clear my head."

"It was freezing cold that night. The start of winter. I had a light jacket on. And the air kept numbing my face; but I didn't care. Being cold didn't matter. At least when I was cold I felt something other than a complete waste of time." His hands unconsciously rub at his arms like he is remembering how cold it was.

"I had music pumping in my ears. I was hoping it would drown out the voices, but it didn't. It didn't drown them out at all. I couldn't escape them."

"They wouldn't leave me alone. They kept repeating over and over and over; and I felt like the whole world was pushing down on me. Dragging me further and further down into Hell." He stares down at the ground, like he is asking for it to open so he can disappear.

"And I found myself standing on an overpass. Just watching the traffic drive past below. I remember thinking how easy it would be to just climb over and fall."

"Just let everything go." He wanted to be free. To just let everything go.

"That everyone would be better off if I wasn't there anymore. My parents wouldn't feel guilty about not being able to help me as much as they wanted. My band mates would be able to make better music."

"They would all be better off, because I wouldn't be there to drag them down anymore." He turns to look at me. Holding my gaze.

"I stepped closer to the edge; and I wanted to do it. I wanted to end it all. Then my phone rang; and when I didn't answer, it rang again, and again."

"I wanted to pick up. I wanted someone to save me. To tell me I wasn't useless, I wasn't a waste of time and energy."

"But I was terrified at the same time. I was terrified that they would say that to me. They would tell me I was loved and wanted, and... I wouldn't believe them."

"Because people lie all the time. To get what they want. I didn't want to be lied to. I wanted the truth." We all desperately want the truth, while being terrified of being told the truth.

"And... then I sat down. I don't know how long I was sitting on that overpass; but Namjoon and Jin hyung found me. My phone was still ringing in my pocket."

"They sat with me. There on the overpass. We didn't leave for hours. The sun was coming up by the time we actually left."

"They didn't ask me any questions. They just sat there with me until I was ready to talk. Until I was ready to leave."

"We got back to the dorms, and the rest of the guys were there. They didn't ask questions. They just sat us down on the couch, covered us with blankets, and got us hot drinks."

"And at that moment. That was exactly what I needed. They saved me. Without any words being spoken. They saved me. I don't think they even know they saved me; but they did."

I feel jealous of Yoongi. He had people who loved him. Who supported him. Who were searching for him.

But... our stories. They're so different, but what we feel inside. Our doubts, our pain, our demons. They're the same.

They speak to each other. And as they speak to each other they drag us closer and closer. They bring us together.