here's a story i wrote ik it probably sucks, but i want other people's opinions. :P
1
I was alone, in the dark, barely breathing. I ignored every call from my drunk mother, I hate her so why should I open the door to the women that I hate?
"Cathy," I would hear every now and again, "get out from your room, it's been two days since you left your damn room."
I hated my life, I don't want to be here any more. I considered running away but that seemed dumb because my mother could find me some how. School was no better then having your drunk mother whack you all the time.
For two days I sat in my room, hoping that something would take my life. I only want to die because my mother always yells, "Cathy you ruined my life, you were a mistake, if your father was still alive then I'd send you away to him and I wouldn't have to deal with you!"
But even though my mother seems to hate me, I still love her. I tried to get her to stop drinking, nothing worked. I threw out her whiskey and rum once, she beat me till i was half conscience.
2
My plan that it came to was to stay in my room till i couldn't take the hunger pains. I'm not really sure what it will accomplish but its worth a try.
On the third day I was starting to go crazy, being locked up in the darkness wasn't my best plan. For some crazy reason, it seemed that an angel was watching me, my mother called up the stairs; not drunk for once; "Cathy I'm going to the store." I heard the footsteps and the door closing soon after.
I waited a few minutes to see if she was really gone, she was. I opened my door and left my room and walked slowly downstairs, into the kitchen I got myself some food, water and something that I thought would help ease the pain. I was walking back upstairs and heard a car pulling up into the driveway, I ran into my room and locked the door. Once again I was alone in the darkness of my room, but this time I have some food, water, and to ease my pain; a razor blade.
3
I never cut myself before, and I didn't really want to start, but I was desperate.
I didn't cut myself until one night, I remembered how happy I was when my dad was around, constant flashbacks struck my mind. I couldn't get them out from my head, so I tried the most reasonable thing that came to mind. I reached for the blade, my fingers grabbed the handle part tightly, the blade made it to my wrist. I trembled as the tip of the knife pressed against my arm, slowly, gliding across my skin.
A stream of blood dripped onto my carpet. My eyes widened, I was afraid of what I just did to myself. My eyes filled with tears and my face got hot and red. I held in all my tears for so long, I didn't cry when my father died, or when my dog was killed by cancer, no, I only cried now. I couldn't take anymore of this pain; the pain of losing so many people who are close to me, the pain of knowing that no one could ever help this pain go away.
The next thing I knew I was on the floor crying hysterically screaming, swearing left and right. I never felt as alone as I did at that moment.
Should I continue writing this story or did it suck to much?
