2|| just an excuse

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TW: Self-harm (there will be a '⚠️' when it starts and ends)

~~~

"Ember," my little sister's voice rings through my head, "wake up!"

"Get out of my room," I groan, pulling the blanket over my head.

"Mom and dad wanted me to come and wake you up," Elodie tells me with a soft apologetic voice. I groan in response before hearing her let out a sigh and closing my door.

As I'm just about to drift off to sleep again, my door swings open. "Ember, get up now," my dad's stern voice demands.

"Why?" I huff, not moving from my cozy position.

"I want you to come with me this morning. I have an opening and I think it would be a good thing for you," dad speaks clearly, turning my light on.

"Working out isn't gonna change the way I feel," I reply, twisting my body to face him. My dad, he's a personal trainer and believes that if I worked out, all of my sadness would simply disintegrate.

"I think it would," he claims as my mom walks into my room, an annoyed look on her face.

"You know what I don't understand?" I sit up, the blanket still draped over me, "I don't understand how you are a personal trainer yet you still don't believe depression is real." I feel the tears start to well in my eyes. Every day. Every fucking day my parents have to remind me that I'm not good enough.

"Ember we have talked about this. You are just sad because all you do is sit around all day doing nothing. Get a damn job," dad hissed harshly.

"I've told you I can't!" I shout through tears.

"That's just an excuse young lady," mom adds. Fuck outta here lady.

"Your so-called 'writing' isn't making you any money. You need to get out of this bedroom of yours and do something with your life. All you do is lay around and mope all day, of course, that's going to make you sad."

"I have depression," I yell, "I've told you this before and I'll tell you again. The chemicals in my brain," I point to my head, "aren't working the same way as yours! I am sick for fucks sake," I break down, letting out all my anger and frustration.

"I've had enough of this," dad shakes his head with a huff, before storming out of my room. Mom gives me a look of disappointment before leaving my room.

I'm sick of this. They don't believe that depression is real, they don't understand it. They don't understand that getting out of bed feels impossible, that washing myself under warm water and lathering up my broken skin is a dreadful nightmare. My dad just thinks if I eat healthier, get out of my room and work out, everything will be fixed.

"At least close my fucking door!" I shout, getting up to slam the door shut,  looking around my room, it's all blurry due to the never-ending stream of tears.

⚠️

My frustration needs to be let out and the only way I know how to do that is by dragging a blade across my skin, physically feeling my own pain. If I'm sad, I cut. If I'm mad, I cut. If I'm numb, I cut. It's comfort to me. My blades are my friends and when one of them gets too dull and it's time to flush it down the toilet, my heart breaks. When my cuts begin to fade, I reopen them because I can't live without them. They're my secret. Only for my eyes, only for me and my messed-up brain to see.

Once I've calmed down I run my wrist under cold water for a few minutes, applying some pressure with the opposite hand until they finally stop bleeding.

⚠️



My phone buzzes from on top of my nightstand and my eyes furrow. Who the fuck? I don't receive notifications of any sort, my Wattpad notifications are turned off...

Drew: hey my love. how are you doing?

I forgot she had my number.

Ember: You want the truth?

Drew: always

Ember: My parents just finished yelling at me and I'm not okay. But it's fine, right? All I gotta do is 'be strong'

I don't know why I'm so angry at the world. So angry at people in general. Well, maybe I do know why...All the people I thought cared about me, left. They left when they realized they couldn't help me and I wasn't 'fun' anymore. I became a quiet, closed-off person that didn't want to go anywhere, I don't blame them.

Drew: no, sometimes you need to break down

Ember: Huh?

Drew: sometimes you need to cry. you need to scream, you need to let it all out

Ember: But I can't do that

Drew: why not?

Ember: If you met my parents you would understand

Drew: i'm sorry ember.
Drew: are they like the ones in your book?

Ember: Kind of...

I place my phone face down, letting out a loud sigh, my eyes landing on the guitar leaned up against the wall. I tried learning once, it was something I had always wanted to learn but all it did was frustrate me. I couldn't do it, my fingers couldn't reach the correct strings, I just couldn't do it. I haven't touched that guitar in over a year. My eyes drift around more, my room is pretty much empty. Bare white walls surround me, there's a desk with my laptop, aside from that there's nothing. Who am I? What are my interests? What do I like to do for fun? I don't know, I don't have answers to those questions.

Some people grow up doing a sport, me, I went to daycare. I was shy, I never made any friends until middle school and as I said, they didn't stick around. I think everything got worse when my sister was born and I saw the way my parents raised her; that's when I knew for sure that I was never wanted. They spent so much time with her, doing everything in their power to raise her perfectly. They're still like that. Elodie loves to dance and they drive her every other day, go to all her recitals, invest in anything and everything she's interested in. I don't resent Elodie, she doesn't know that they didn't care for me. She's happily oblivious to how they treat me. She's sweet and she tries to talk to me, she tries to have a relationship with me but I'm not interested, I'd probably just mess her up.

I wrote a book once that wasn't about Billie, and I was extremely proud of it. I asked my mom to read it, she said she didn't have time, which I guess was true but it still hurt. They've never read a thing I've written. They don't care about me.

~~~

A/N: Hmm, I don't know if I like this. Thoughts?

Words: 1171

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