“I know I’m not the center of the universe
But you keep spinning ‘round me just the same”
— Heavy, Linkin Park
The blood, tears, and mascara trailing down Ava’s cheeks painted a pretty picture of desperation and hopelessness. Her eyes were staring right back at her in the mirror, but there was nothing to be seen. There was a dark void in them that started off as a small pinpoint and grew with time, taking all of the light from her eyes along with any hope she had left. For a long time, she was able to fill that nothingness with something – anything. Whether it be the love of the people around her, her own foolishness, or something artificial, in the end she was left empty and hollow. Looking back at her in the glass was not the woman she’d painted herself to be for the past few years. It was like seeing herself in the screen of a television and turning it off only for her to see her true reflection. Black, bleak, and nothing but static.
She knew this was a long time coming, but she’d done nothing to stop it. The itch came a few weeks prior to the moment she was having. It started off as an itch that she couldn’t scratch – like a bug crawling through her skull and eating away at her mind. She got lower and lower and lower until it eventually festered into something she constantly thought about and needed. Alcohol did absolutely nothing for her, and she knew even if she were to kill herself, she would come right back after a few hours like nothing happened. Not a scab to tear back open with her bare hands, not a scar to stare at and relive through, or even pain. What was pain anymore?
The heaviness in her heart was like a weight she couldn’t wait to cut out of her chest. Maybe if she took the razor that was in front of her and sliced through all the skin and bone, she could pluck it right out and fly far away. If she were to place it on the Scales, would it be light as a feather or heavier than the growing guilt in her heart? Would it be so full of the sorrow and hurt and self-hatred that she would plunge through the floor and straight into the Hell that awaited her?
Instead of cutting herself open, she used the flat of the blade to gather the white dust in front of her. If she could process any form of thought in those moments, she would be able to hear the voice inside her head screaming for her to stop, telling her not to go down this road again. She would see the disappointed faces of those she loved – that small few that was left – warning her to not do this to herself and that she was better than this. She could see herself crying and wishing she wouldn’t always be stuck in this cycle of destruction and knowing it was all for nothing.
But she didn’t think. She couldn’t. There was nothing but silence.
If anything, all she could do was drown everything out as soon as she put the needle in her skin and found comfort outside of her own body.