Marionette

I can feel my mother’s warmth, holding me close from the other side of the wall. Her nails reach for me, as she scratches on the bathroom door. Her soft words invade my mind, a quiet symphony slowly, soothing the evil that’s in disguise, refusing to unmask and leave me behind. The fluorescent tiles in the shower is a canvas with my life’s work splattered in red.  Blood forms under my nails, like crusted gunk lurking in crevices. A razor slices a path inside, shredding deeper and deeper under my veins. They become crooked battle scars tattooed on my wrists. I study myself through my twin in the mirror, a constellation of crusted cuts ink on my porcelain face. My eyes show a painting of yellow-purple watercolors. These bitter memories haunt me. So hard for my brain to digest, they sit there in my throat, refusing to let go.

Like my hand, clinging to the locker. They twisted my hair, weaved my strength between their fingers. People bought tickets to see the show, they gathered to mock my cries. I could feel my skull crack, a wave of pain pounded across my head. They picked at my scabs, peeled the shield, emptied the light I had left sealed shut inside me, seen as nothing more than a voodoo doll. “You’re disgusting. You don’t deserve to live.” At this point, I never deserved life. Teachers brushed me off their shoulder, ignoring a girl with no outlet from the demons crawling all over me. Why can’t they see me fall, fall under their spell? With a wave of their wand, I’m turned into a marionette, my life, my body, tugged by strings. I just want them to snap. 

Why am I scared to seek help?

Pills were my only friends; they kept close in times of need. They churned my sight, I could see the friends I once knew blister under my skin. I escape the bathroom, the hurt, the grim that was waiting patiently at the end of the tunnel for my arrival. There, there is my mother on the steps, trickling tears, heavy with love. I’m selfish for the thought of befriending death.  She caresses my hand, mending the holes with her tender warmth, whispering to let go of all my suffering. She is here.  She will always be here. 

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