***Disclaimer!
This story includes abuse, self harm, substance abuse, and sexual assault. Please do not read if you will be triggered. I have worked really hard on this story, and I would appreciate for you to take this disclaimer seriously. Please, do not read just to report!

If you are struggling with suicidal ideation, please reach out to someone.

Suicide hotline
(800)273-8255

End of disclaimer***

My breathing was slow. The bath water was like cold needles jabbing into my bare skin. My eyelids were heavy, and I didn't bother holding them open. I lost count of how many pills I took. Ten? Twenty? Enough to kill me?

I wish I could kill myself. I wasn't allowed to. I had responsibilities. I wasn't selfish, and I couldn't ruin my little brothers life. I needed to protect him from my alcoholic mom. Not that my rich dad with his new family was any better.

My body sank lower into the tub as I blinked for the last time. Not the last time of my life. The last time before I would pass out for a couple hours.

I would be woken up soon by my drunken mother in a couple hours. She'll hit me, but I won't feel the pain. I'll be numb from the frozen water and pills. She won't go near Owen because he is not a fuck up like I am.

There is no "maybe I deserve this" hinting in my mind. I know I deserve this. If I had never been born, my parents never would have gotten married. They never would've fought for four years before my dad realized it wasn't going to get better. My mom wouldn't have gotten so depressed and started drinking.

Maybe tonight she wouldn't be drunk. Of course she would be drunk. When isn't she drunk?

"What the fuck are you doing?" My vision was blurred as I tried to open my eyes.

I felt her hand around my arm yanking up my naked body. I couldn't feel it. I couldn't feel a damn thing anymore. It was too late.

"You ruined my life!!" She screamed in my face.

Water filled my lungs as she shoved my face into the water. I gasped for air, but only more water filled my dry mouth. I kicked my legs and flung my arms. It felt like I was held under there for minutes, hours even.

I was pulled back up by my arms. My body was limp. My droopy eyes found a spot on the ground to concentrate on. I had to stand. I needed to, but my legs wouldn't work.

"Worthless piece of shit." She mumbled and threw me out of the bath and to the ground. "Get out!"

My body was dripping wet. Water was spilled on the floor. I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my nakedness. Dragging my body across the hall to my room was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

"I'm sorry." The words had so much feeling, but they meant nothing to my mom. If she heard me mumbling the words, she would come in here and finish her beating.

I was done for tonight. She was done. I was safe. I was only safe from her, but not my own mind. The thoughts swirled in my head.

"Worthless piece of shit."

I dressed myself. A t-shirt was pulled over my head, but it did not feel like my body motions. The pills had not lasted long enough to keep me emotionless for tonight. When I grabbed my underwear, I also grabbed a small blade that was hidden in the same drawer. I felt comfort in holding the cold weapon.

My bed caught me when I crumpled into my ball. The black hole of depression had swallowed me yet again. I plugged my headphones into my phone and turned on Spotify. I had to make sure my mom couldn't hear the soft music, or she might come back.

The tears burned my eyes. I added another deep cut into my leg that already had a few on it. There were only two permanent ones on my right leg. Most of them faded after a few days. I tried to avoid cutting, but it was hard when I was in such a dark hole.

"Look mom. I harm myself just like you. You would be so proud."

Eventually, I fell asleep again. Maybe it was two or three in the morning. I couldn't escape the thoughts of death. They seemed so appealing to me.

People say suicide is selfish. I say it's selfish to allow someone who is in so much pain to live. There is no point in life. We're born. We live. We die. The only reason we stay is because we are told suicide is wrong, but what's the point? We all die anyway, right? Why was it so bad if I just sped up the process.

I couldn't think like that. I had to protect Owen. I feared that he would be abused when he got older. I couldn't let my baby brother go through the same things I go through.

He was a mistake. He was a one night stand with some guy my mom had met at the bar. I couldn't allow my mother to see him as a mistake and beat him.

I was a senior. Seventeen years old. So young yet so much pain. I only had a month until I turned 18. Eight months until I graduated, and I could move to the cities with Owen.

"Charlotte. Honey." I felt someone shaking my shoulder.

"Yeah?" I mumbled and opened my eyes.

"It's time for school baby. I made you some breakfast." My mother smiled at me.

She did this every once in awhile. She would apologize and treat me like she was the best mom in the world.

"Okay. I'll be out there in a second." I faked a smile.

I deserved what she did last night. I shouldn't have been so stupid. How could I have been so stupid?

"Make sure you cover up that bruise. I don't want anyone questioning you at school." She gently swept her fingertips over my neck.

I nodded. She left, and I got up to get dressed. I looked at the bruises around my neck. My eyes were sunken in. I had purple bags. My skin was pale, and my blue eyes were dull.

I brushed my blonde hair that was tangled from last nights bath. I applied as much makeup as I could to make myself look alive. I knew I would never be able to cover up the bruise, so I decided on wearing a scarf.

It was something I had to do often, hiding bruises. Usually, they weren't on my neck though. The black jacket I wore matched the blue scarf, and it covered everything. I put on jeans and walked into the small apartment kitchen.

"You look beautiful." My mom smiled at me.

"Thank you." I knew she didn't mean that. How could she? I was disgusting.

I made sure to take a piece of sausage she made, so she wouldn't be upset later. I scarfed it down without puking.

I tried to avoid fatty foods as much as possible. Sausage was too greasy for me, and my body couldn't handle food like it. Sometimes, I would purge just to get rid of the sick feeling.

I grabbed my backpack and headed out of the apartment to my car, finally escaping the abuse for only a few moments.

School was almost as bad as home. I had social anxiety and many people bullied me. I couldn't blame them because fuck, I was ugly. I didn't really give a shit anyway.

Don't get me wrong. I had friends. Just none that I went to high school with. There were also multiple people I talked to through my secret Instagram account. It's like a finsta but for depressed souls to vent.

My best friend was a college girl at SCSU. I met Jo at my job at a small coffee house that college kids often went to. It was a really hip and indie place. Jo and I weren't typical best friends. We mostly just hung out to smoke and go to parties, so, naturally, she does not know about my secret account.

Yes, I had friends. Just not at school.