World Tour
Fresh Wounds
***Harry Styles***
Saturday, February 11th, 2012 – North London
I went to my room, irate. I slammed the door and sat down on my bed, breathing heavily. How could Louis think that my life was easier than his just because I still had my family, who I rarely saw anyway? He was the one who was happy, not me. In fact, I was borderline depressed, and the worst part about it was I didn’t know why. But I couldn’t talk to him about it, because what would he think then? It wasn’t his job to take care of me or pull me out of my state of mind; I had to do that on my own. But I still needed him, and I was pretty sure I had just screwed that up permanently. I felt my shoulders shake as I started to cry. I stood up and began pacing around my room, trying to figure out how I was possibly going to get through life. I mean, how many more times would I have to come out to people? If we kept it from the public, then every time I made a new friend I would have to do what I had done on the tour bus all over again, and I’d probably always say something wrong to upset Louis and we’d fight every time. That is, if we were still together. It would be so much easier to just tell the public at once, then I’d never have to come out again after that. But I couldn’t even handle ridicule over a bad performance, how did I ever expect to handle it over my lifestyle?
I found the razor blade I had kept in my room for instances just like this. I pulled it out of the drawer and, without thinking, through a mess of tears, I slid it across my hip bone. The blood poured out, and I closed my eyes at the fresh pain, a welcome distraction from the pain going on inside me. All I could focus on was the cut – it was all I wanted to focus on. Once the sting subsided, I took the blade to my hip again, making a new cut mark below the other one. I didn’t even realize I cried out in pain.
Saturday, February 11th, 2012 – North London
I went to my room, irate. I slammed the door and sat down on my bed, breathing heavily. How could Louis think that my life was easier than his just because I still had my family, who I rarely saw anyway? He was the one who was happy, not me. In fact, I was borderline depressed, and the worst part about it was I didn’t know why. But I couldn’t talk to him about it, because what would he think then? It wasn’t his job to take care of me or pull me out of my state of mind; I had to do that on my own. But I still needed him, and I was pretty sure I had just screwed that up permanently. I felt my shoulders shake as I started to cry. I stood up and began pacing around my room, trying to figure out how I was possibly going to get through life. I mean, how many more times would I have to come out to people? If we kept it from the public, then every time I made a new friend I would have to do what I had done on the tour bus all over again, and I’d probably always say something wrong to upset Louis and we’d fight every time. That is, if we were still together. It would be so much easier to just tell the public at once, then I’d never have to come out again after that. But I couldn’t even handle ridicule over a bad performance, how did I ever expect to handle it over my lifestyle?
I found the razor blade I had kept in my room for instances just like this. I pulled it out of the drawer and, without thinking, through a mess of tears, I slid it across my hip bone. The blood poured out, and I closed my eyes at the fresh pain, a welcome distraction from the pain going on inside me. All I could focus on was the cut – it was all I wanted to focus on. Once the sting subsided, I took the blade to my hip again, making a new cut mark below the other one. I didn’t even realize I cried out in pain.
@Sinthiaa
No, it's not hers, it's mine, and I can't get in touch with her or the site admins to get it taken down, grrr haha. Thank you for saying something though :-) *MUAH*
5/6/14