Her Paroxysm Diaries

I lay on my bed and I see the bed sheets turn from pink to red. There’s a blade on one end and my diary on the other, a tear rolling down my eye and mixed thoughts in my mind. A smirk with that teary eye and I wonder what had I done to myself. I try to get up and I get this sudden flashback and I keep on switching from the past to my present realizing what had I done and the damage I had caused, adding on to the list of "Things I need to change about myself".

Its not that I wanted to die but cutting myself just made me feel better. I didn't want anyone's sympathy or anything but it just helped me somewhere punish myself for the wrong that I had done. It was the frustration that I always wanted to overcome in some or there other way and instead of shouting at others I chose to remove it on myself. I believed that hurting myself was better than hurting someone else through my harsh words specially when that person had done no wrong to me and was just trying to help me. I always wanted to build a castle of my dream but the problem was it was not white or cream-ish or pink in color, I wanted it to be black, as black as the color of my life that it had turned out to be. Nothing motivated me in my life to walk on a better path with flowers on both the ends with borders of pretty butterflies flying around and pretty tall trees, than what I was drowning on to. My life was not always like this, but since the time I remember it had been so, I was so much into it that I was finding it difficult to get out of it. Once you start being mean to yourself than others, you become introvert and start restricting yourself. I could give the best of advises to anyone but when it came to myself I couldn't get my things together because my inner voice never controlled me. I have always been used to someone telling me how to go about things and how to make things right in my life. Or at least judging my life and telling me if at all it was the right way to live it or not.

I had dropped out of school. Since the time this episode of my life has started, I have experienced the worst phase of my life. When my school came to know about how I was dealing with my situations, I started to lose friends. People started to call me a freak and everyone started to think rejected as the person of who I was. When it came to not being there with me and for me, suddenly everyone had become a pro at it. I would go to school alone. No one would sit beside me. My own friends told me it was embarrassing to be around me. Instead of making me understand, they started to abandon me. I was left out as if I was the ugly looking piece of bread. Sick comparison I know but yea that’s the closest I could give an example of. I was left alone. I started writing diaries but that just helped me share and understand myself better. The cuts were still deep and in fact the results were worse. I started to get nightmares. I looked upon myself as a failure. I couldn't help but lock myself in the room. My face had gone pale and my parents soon found out about my depression. They decided on home schooling me for a year giving me a break from all the bullshit that I was going through. 

I had forgotten what is it to stay up late to work hard for assignments or to just stay up late trying to think about the happy moments you share. The only reason why I would stay up late was to either cry or cut myself and later listen to my mom cry and whine about it. I was not only hurting myself but hurting my parents who had almost given up their happiness for me. Just for some few people in my life who never bothered about me, I was giving up on my happiness as well as my parents. Who knew that life would turn out to be, well, such a bitch? But yes, however it was, I knew I couldn't take it anymore.

“I have to get better! YOU have to get better Chloe! You have to!” it was difficult for a girl like me to say something like this every day but one fine Sunday morning I started it. The first few days it did not affect me at all. I kept on finding it stupid. Self-confidence, believing in oneself , composure, serenity, or anything at all, I kept on thinking all this was shit and nothing could change what I am. How could some few letters further making them words could make a difference in your life? The words that further depended on sentences to make sense get you to change your state of mind? How should all this even motivate me?

I still had to speak myself the same stupid letters further words to sentences to myself. From just the boring mornings it went ahead to lazy evenings and then to the half cut blood stained hand nights. After a couple of weeks I still thought it was not working and I laughed to myself. Perhaps that was the first smile I had felt on my face after these 13 months. I thanked whoever inside my dream world had made me do it. I kept on promising that someone who claimed to be a better person than me with different other promises. I promised to go back to my childhood memories and refer back to the albums and stories with my mom. I called mom early from her work that afternoon. She rushed back in wonder if anything was wrong. That one smile then had made me feel my mother’s care in the present. A tear rolled down my cheek when I saw her enter the front door and rush towards me. This time the sparking tear from my eye was not of sorrow but of happiness and realization of how much she cared and how much I had forgotten about it. I hugged her whispered in her ear, “I love you… and I’m sorry.” She busted out in tears and we both were wondering why. I asked her if we could refer to the childhood albums and stories. She happily nodded her head wiping off the tear from her eye and giving me that smile. I had forgotten what happiness it gave you after making someone else smile. It was way better than making myself smile. I sensed some sort of self satisfaction is just so much way more better than what it actually was supposed to be. I kept on assuring such promise to that imaginary being in my head.

“You’re better now and you know yourself… you know who you are and you know what is to live life now. You are as good as me now. Or let’s just say… You have become me and staged yourself where you always dreamt of being.” I woke up to those sudden words to myself and wondered what was all that about. The next morning when I wake up, I recollect this dream. I laughed and I noticed,

- The wounds from my hands had gone,

- The smile had got back on to my face,

- I no more cried myself to sleep,

- I understood myself better,

- The diaries had better story to say,

- The castle was no more black in color,

- and the weed growing in an unwanted place but a changed blossoming flower.