My Own Writing


I am going to actually post a small part of my own writing up this time. This has been posted as comments on another blog so those of you who follow that one, have already these. I am going to splurge and let people I know read this now. Let me know what you think, and you know, if you’ve already read these you are welcome to comment again. This is the middle of a story, and no, you cannot have more…..yet. Maybe this is too much to post on one blog buuttt I feel it’s all necessary. BTW this is FICTION.


As I squirmed around my bed, I clutched my sides and screamed into my pillow. I was crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was sitting on my chest just to see how long it took until I passed out. Maybe I could cry out all the anger and pain I felt inside. How could no one realize how emotionally unstable I felt? Gripping my sides didn’t help me breathe any better, but it felt like I could hold myself together and not shatter into a million pieces. Like a broken figurine, glue between the cracks, and a rubber band around it for support while you wait for it to fuse back together. By the time I was all cried out, my hand was bruising and sore. I couldn’t make a fist anymore. My pillow felt as if it had been left out in a rainstorm. I tossed my soggy pillow aside and tried to sleep. I didn’t want to go through with tomorrow because I already knew what was coming. I knew they would play it off like none of it happened. It was in the past now, why look back?

Crying that hard must have exhausted me because I fell asleep somewhere around 4 a.m. Despite being drained of all energy I woke up around seven, very groggy and not wanting to move. I decided that I wanted to message my friend Cory and explain what happened. I usually messaged him because he could calm me down and help me see if I was being irrational in a situation. This time I wasn’t. I explained what happened between me and my parents the night before and he said he was sorry and that he wished he could be of more help. I felt bad always leaning on him, pouring my heart and soul into a tiny message for him to dissect. I felt like I was giving him a window into my life, exposing it for what it really was. Showing him that the smile I paint on for the public wasn’t how I really felt.

Writing out all my dilemmas was a hell of a lot easier than voicing them. Whenever I opened my mouth to spill out my opinions, I felt a lump in my throat choking off my air supply. As if the world didn’t care to hear what I had to say. I sat there messaging Cory for a few hours. I was sitting in the family room pretending to pay attention to my parents conversation. Every now and then I would chime in. They did in fact play it off like nothing happened last night. They were the happy couple that everyone saw when they were in public. To me, it seemed like every other word that slid out of their mouths was poison. Either a little white lie or something bossy and hypocritical. It wasn’t just them. It was everyone. The people I worked for, the people I thought I could trust.

I hated listening to the lies everyone told me. I hated knowing they were lies, but not being able to announce that I knew. It weighed me down trying to act calm in front of everyone, playing it off like I was fine. I wanted to rip my hair out I was so frustrated. My conscience was screaming while my shell stood there and smiled. I excused myself from the table where my parents were arguing, to go take a bath. I ran to my room to grab some clothes and that little black box I liked to keep hidden in the depths of my dresser. I started my bath and carefully set the box on the edge of the tub. “Here we go,” I whispered to myself, and climbed into the warm water. I grabbed the tiny box, and pulled out that small piece of metal that had made me feel so much better before. I stared at it in all of its glory, knowing full well what all of this meant. They would think I was crazy.

I knew I was wrong, but I couldn’t stop. Everyday the same old problems, everyday they never get resolved. I wasn’t doing this to kill myself, I was doing it as a release. Some proof that I wasn’t dead, proof I still had feelings. I felt like this little razor blade might be able to cut through the web of lies and anger that contorted every thought that crossed my twisted mind. Placing it to my mouth wasn’t working anymore. I was having trouble eating and people would notice I had stopped altogether. As I pressed the icy blade to my inner thigh, I clenched my teeth together and began to drag it across my skin.

It stung at first, and my eyes filled with hot tears. When the three parallel lines had been carved, I leaned back in the tub and almost felt relaxed. Both my pain and thoughts subsided into a black hole that filled my mind. I no longer felt the need to finish the bath, I just wanted to stay here forever, not caring, not feeling, not needing anyone or anything.

My dad knocked on the door and announced he needed to go and complained about me taking the longest baths ever. I didn’t want to get out of the tub yet. I wanted to savor this feeling, but I knew he would just continue to complain, so I forced myself to get up and dry off. I pulled on my sweatshirt and wrapped my hair in a towel. I started to pull up my jeans, but they stung at my wounds. I grabbed an ace bandage, wrapped up my thigh, and pulled up my jeans for the second time, and walked out the door.

I made it down the stairs and to my bedroom, but I was feeling a little shaky. There was a little red splotch about the size of a quarter on my thigh. I poked at it wondering if it was from the first time I tried getting dressed or if it was bleeding through the ace bandage. The dot grew a little bigger and I knew. As I switched into sweatpants I peeked at my leg. All three of the freshly carved lines were trickling out the last remnants of my pain. I waited for them to stitch themselves together so I could continue the act of being perfectly fine. I felt like and old rag doll, sewn together where I had grown weak yet permanently smiling despite how worn down I felt.


That’s it (for now). What do you think? Actually after re-reading this, I don’t like how the first paragraph runs into the second one. It needs to flow better. #IMO


21 responses »

  1. Wow, wow, wow! Caroline, you are a fabulous writer! You were right when you said it wasn’t pretty; it’s dark, sad, and somewhat disturbing but all in the best way possible. I want to know more about the main character. She seems like so many people I know; act completely fine and normal on the outside but not so much on the inside. I read your first paragraph on Gae’s blog and it is still my favorite mostly because it does such a fantastic job drawing you in! Well done my friend, you should be very proud!

  2. Ah, a girl after my own heart. This is similar to the book I’m writing right now. I think it’s very good. You express her pain very well, and her form of release. It leaves me wanting to know what happened with her parents the night before.

    Good work, Caroline.

  3. look at that. your beautiful, evocative, brutally painful– yet hopeful enough to want to root for her — piece of story out here for your readers to see.

    it’s lovely and worthy. yay you.

  4. Caroline… I truly think you are a magnificent writer!!! You actually bring the character to life… I literally felt as if it was myself who was feeling all of that pain!!! That is true talent when you can make a person feel the whole heaviness in the chest… I so wish I could still write like I used to back in High School… You are fantastic… I cannot wait to read more of your work and for it to one day be published… Love ya ❤ ❤ ❤

  5. I love this, Caroline. And like I’ve said lots o’ times before–You need to write! 😀 I felt the character’s pain, frustration and fear. I even got teary. Fantastic job!

  6. It’s fiction “Papa.” Perfect people are boring to read about. 🙂

    Caroline, look at this. Some really nice feedback, and of course, a reminder from Max that a rough first draft is just that. Rough with lots of room for revision. But revision/editing should always wait if it can, until the whole first draft is done. Especially edits to the beginning, which is so often NOT the beginning by the time we get to the end. So why bother revising up front?

    This is a great first draft with real emotion and powerful writing shining through. 🙂

  7. I swear I’ve stared at this little comment box for ten minutes because I don’t know how to say how much I love this without sounding like I’m repeating what everyone else said. This is powerful writing and you are amazeballz Caroline. I love this story and I can’t wait to read more.
    If all goes well for the two of us maybe the word will see both our names on book store shelves and bestsellers lists 🙂 Great job Fren!

  8. Caroline…this is amazing. You vividly make her frustration and pain clear to the reader — so much so it hurt my heart. I so want to know what brought her to that place and what will give her respite, other than the self destructive path that she’s taken. Keep going!

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