So I saw this post on Facebook with a different post (This was pretty much under it, long story) And Iâm bored so I thought âHey! Iâm gonna see if I can actually write!â (I canât, but shh). So like, enjoy. Conceit is more than accepted, it is wanted.
2:04 Am, September second when I had stirred awake after the alarm clock beside the bed, resting on the nightstand of my old childhood room. My boyfriend Alex, who was just laying behind me his arms wrapped protectively around me, softly snored as his head snuggling itself in to the crook of my neck.Â
We were at my parents house temporarily, as a mold problem had occurred in our apartment. Thankfully we werenât the ones who have to deal with or pay for it being fixed, but living with my parents again wasnât the most fun thing to be out there. My parents and I never really got along; I was never the smartest, or the prettiest, or the best behaved. I never held a place of honor the way my siblings did; Iâm quite sure that the only reason my parents ever took me back home for the short while again was because Iâm their kid. They most likely think they have to do that.
I was never very social either. Sometime after high school when friends I had from middle school drifted away. I have the social skills of a child during a temper tantrum, so itâs needless to say that I havenât made new friends from college or work. You could say since we met, it has been Alex and I against the world, together.Â
Alex and I had started middle school together, and we were high school sweethearts, and still together today, all from that day in second period ninth grade English. He was such a dorky kid back then, with his hair flopping in ways that looked like bedhead, and his love of Astronomy. I mean, heâs still sort of a dork now, but that isnât the point. Heâs cute as hell, and I would be lying if I said I wasnât the luckiest girl to be alive.
I quickly turned the alarm off before turning around in bed, snuggling myself up to Alex, my arm wrapping around him. The way Iâm laying, with my arm snuggled under his and going around  to here my palm was lying on his shoulder, I could see the scars on my wrist. My mind wandered away to me, remembering how those scars occurred.Â
Junior year was the worst year of my life. The workload was terrible, and what I didnât recognize as depression had hit me like a truck. I didnât tell anyone about the strange and horrible feelings that washed over me. Not at first anyway. My parents would have told me I was attention seeking. My siblings would have made fun of me. Any friends I had would have told me to just cheer up. I didnât want to tell Alex, though he was probably the one person who would have truly cared and listened. I didnât want to worry him, the way I knew my family or friends would have never worried despite how hard they tried to understand how bad things were. Besides, it could very well drive him away. Who wants to be dating some depressed girl?
Well, Alex ended up finding out. Shortly after the depression started hitting me hard, I started cutting. I was stupid enough to put it on my wrists. Alex ended up seeing my wrists when he was over to study with me, when he had stolen my phone and as I went to reach back for the phone, my sweatshirt sleeve had raided up, exposing my wrists. Alex had noticed right away, of course. The look in his big golden brown eyes showed fear when he saw the dark red dashes.
âApril?â He asked, and I can still remember the way his voice had croaked when he saw the self harm scars â...What happened?â
Iâm sure the way I looked reminded him of a deer in headlights. I tried to sweep it off, trying to prove I was alright. We spent an hour straight of me making excuses for the dashes, saying that my motherâs cat was he cause, then that I was curious of how it felt, then I tried downplaying it saying that I was upset and âthat time of the monthâ and I broke when my mom started yelling. When I knew he wouldnât give in, I broke down and told him everything, crying in the process. I can still remember the way he was hugging me tightly as my face hid against his shoulder, whispering what I know now were not sweet nothings in to my ear.
After that, I lied and told him I was doing fine, to try and keep him from worrying about me. I stopped cutting on my wrists and moved down to my legs, stomach, and hips. He would ask how I had been, and I would have snuck in an innocent little lie and tell him that Iâve been feeling better since we talked.
Months went by with my pretending, and I remember around that time our relationship having a great strain from growing depression inside my mind that I couldnât find an end to.Â
Along with my depression, my grades had stopped dropping drastically, and I went from being a B- student to failing my classes. This only pissed my mother off, and made her say words that I can certainly say are words I will never let go nor forgive.
âWhat the hell is this, April?â Was the first thing I heard from my motherâs stern voice when I walked through the door, holding my report card from the semesterâs finals.Â
I can still remember the screaming on that January night that came from my momâs mouth. The names she called me, how she told me I was going no where in life, and I definitely remember the feeling of her hand landing square across my face. When she had finally dismissed me, I excused myself up to my room.
Everything was sort of a rush, my mind not fully thinking things through as I had grabbed my blades that I had acquired from an old razor along with pain medication I found in the bathroom. I took the entire bottle of little orange colored pills before taking the razor to my skin and cutting my skin. It hurt so badly, but so good at the same time in a way Iâm never going to be able to describe. That was the deepest I had ever cut before, thatâs for sure. The razor was still in my skin when I passed out from overdosing on the pills.
Thankfully, I didnât die. Â I woke up in a hospital bed who knows how long after I had passed out, the bright sun shining through the curtains hurting my eyes. Alex was there, doing homework as he patiently waited for me to wake up.
I had let out a soft groan in greeting, Catching Alexâs attention. He stood up, having no real need to try and save his stuff from falling on the ground, before he had come over and hugged me so tightly that I thought I was going to pass out- again.
Needless to say, we both cried a lot that Thursday.
Alex ended up staying with me the majority of the time that I was admitted in to the hospital, which until a week after I woke up. Sure, he went and changed and showered and whatnot, but we spent the majority of the time together. He even skipped school to stay with me, insisting that it was no big deal. We had talks about everything that one week, from aliens, to the human mind,to conspiracy theories, and just about anything else we would think up.
I canât help but smile as I watch my lovely husband snore, and I reach up and kiss his lips, the idea of the worst time of my life only pulling he toward him more. He smiled, half awake saying âYouâre up, arenât you?â
âYeah, I am.â I said softly, sheepishly.
He smiled, sleepily kissing my head. âGo to bed love.â He said as he pulled me in closer to him. I couldnât help but sheepishly grin. âI love you.â She said softly.Â
âYou too, April. Get some sleep, Love.â He said softly, smiling softly as I watched him drift to sleep and once again, not budging his arms from around me. I eventually follow in to Alexâs footsteps, falling asleep shortly after, surly with a smile on my face.
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