Broken - Crimson Rose (best classic books of all time txt) 📗

Broken part 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and 6 and 7 and 8


3rd of April

Dear diary, dear shriary... Let's get something straight, I don't go dear, or love, or sincerely. That's for whimps. I jump right on to what I want to say. Today I won't go and write about my day. No, instead I'll write why I'm writing in a stupid journal... I have no one to talk to, except my therapist. But there's a difference between opening up to a therapist and a journal... A therapist tells you you should stop the cutting. A journal doesn't. It's kinda like talking to the wall or to a stuffed animal, except that it's being perminent with a pen. Not that I'll turn this into published work, but incase I take down the pills some day. So they know what to play in my funeral.
Don't I have any friends? Oh, I only have back stabbers. Who tadletailed me to our school counselor about the cutting. Well, I can't blame them, after all it was my stupidness to show them my scars, but they should have known I trust

them. Not anymore... These days, at school I sit in the back row and talk to no one and do sketchings of the teacher as a monster; which she is, by always staring in my eyes trying to make it obvious she knows I put black eyeliner on... Which is prohibited in my school. Other restrictions are; wearing anything except uniforms, loose hair, boots, anything dark (which caused me detention because I'm emo) and sharp objects. Oh yeah, and making out. No guy likes me anyways, I think I scare them off. I am liberal of any guy. My dream would be to be an amazon. Kill men. They don't deserve women. And they never will. I can't believe I've been in love with that jerk for so long, but I don't want to talk about him... Maybe later...


5th of April

Roses are black, violets are white. You see my life is black and white. The only thing clinging me to life is my violin, I can play her for hours and hours. With her I don't think of my damn problems. I whisper to her, and in return she sings to me. Do si si do si si do si si sol re do do si la la sol fa... Sometimes I get in a trans, so I don't even see whats going around me, and that caused my cats death today. No, she's alive, but I doubt it that she'll make it till tomorrow. I opened up the window so the breeze can cool me off as I play my violin. And I started on playing. I don't know for how long, but in the end when I was done and was to close the window, it was sunset. Then, I saw something red, when I looked out of my window. First I thought it was the reflection of sun on water, but since when is the sun so red? No, it wasn't water, it was blood. And in the middle of the puddle of blood was a black figure; my dear Lucifer. I ran downstairs and held her in my arms. By the time we were at the closest vet I was soaking in her blood myself. I never cry, not in this occasion or any other. But something deep inside me was holding the tears away. I tried to let it go and failed. So all I did was to pull my hair in front of my eyes and wait. For how long I don't know, but it was midnight when the veterinarian came and told me she had to stay over night and that there is no point in waiting. But I didn't want to go home. After all, I didn't have my keys with me and I would have to wake up the household. I would have to explain, because they expect me to be late usually, but never this late. Of course I didn't tell this to the vet. Instead I got up, and out. It was raining, but I didn't mind. I just stood there for half an hour, just a few steps in front of the vet. I thought on things. I thought what would happen if the last being, Lucifer, who loves me died. I thought of how I would explain this to my parents. And worst of all, I thought of if I would ever have the guts to play may violin ever again.


7th of April

The funeral of Lucifer took place in our backyard. I requested that no one else would be attending my poor darlings funeral except me, so I could tell him goodbye while we were alone. As I dived in his fur with my fingers and asked him 'or was this suicide?' but I shook my head knowing that a cat would never do that. Only human do. But Lucifer was always beyond a cat. Back in the times I was able to cry he used to lick my tears as if telling me it's all gonna be alright. But it never was alright in the end. As I placed a kiss on his nose for one last time I shifted his weight on my left arm, and I felt an excruciating sting. After I dug Lucifer into the black earth, I opened up my arm. Cuts, deeper than I've ever done. The weird part was, I don't remember cutting these in. They already looked infected, so I ran to the bathroom to treat it. When I entered the bathroom, I found blood on the bathroom carpet, and it struck me. I remembered it. Yesterday, when I got the news of his death, I ran and ran and ran. I ran through our front yard, into our doorway, to the kitchen where I grabbed a knife and to the bathroom where I slid the knife across my arm. No, it wasn't satisfying enough, so I dug deeper, and deeper till I blacked out. Yes, that's why I had a hard time remembering. Then my mom took me into my room, and it was today when I woke up.
I wiped the dried blood on my arm. Today was special, I sunk on the bathroom floor and cried. I cried, not so much since I'm still not used to it, but I cried till I was relived. Now I'm fine. So that's why the therapist keeps tissues in his office...


9th of April

As every Thursday, today I went to my therapist again. I sat on the orange couch. I hate orange. He, with his sky blue clipboard in his hand and legs crossed started off 'Your mom called.'. I kept my silence. 'She told me your cat died' yes I wanted to tell him, and it's my fault, but I sat there looking right into his eyes. 'Becca, we talked about this before. Keeping quite doesn't help you' nothing helps me. I'm hopeless. But I talked anyways. 'he died while I was playing my violin. I'm never playing her again.' he nodded but didn't say anything on top of that so I kept on 'The problem is no one blames me. They didn't even ask how it happened. But I want them to blame me. Because I am to blame.'. He jotted that down, and asked me 'And if they blamed you , what next? It wouldn't bring your cat back, would it?' no ,it wouldn't. But instead on replying I went on 'I cut myself again' I showed him my scars. Although in the begging I kept them for myself, soon I saw nothing wrong in showing them to him. Only him. He examined them. 'These are deep.' yes, I know, and they hurt really bad. Though I wasn't ready on telling him about the crying yet. So I changed the subject 'I haven't been getting my period lately. Well, actually it's been 2 months since.' he wrote that down. He asked me 'Have you been taking your medication?' no, I'm not. Antidepressants are for people who don't want to feel. But I want to feel... My moms been making sure I'm taking them, but I fake it. They go down the loo. I told him I take them, because if I told him the truth he would inform my mom. He looked into my eyes, but said nothing. He knows the truth. But time was up. My mom held my hand as we walked in the car. She started to drive and not even looking at me said 'I enrolled you for bale.' first I didn't understand 'what?', this time looking at me 'You need to put your mind of things, well, other than your violin. I talked to your therapist on the phone. He told me you should do some sports.' I wonder what else the therapist tells her, but I trust him. 'Since when is bale a sport?' over my dead body, I'm not light on my feet. I wear boots and sweaters. I keep my feet strong on the floor. I DON'T DANCE. Period.


11th of April

Today my mom literally pulled me by my hair to take me to 'bale'. I stood in the middle of the class filled with girls in white tights and pink tanks that are my age. All of them had their hair in buns. They looked pathetic. I don't belong here. They didn't look at me in a welcoming way, after all I was nothing like them. I whispered to my mom 'I don't have suitable clothes anyways, let's go home.', to my surprise she took out black tights and a black tank out of her bag. I put them on in the dressing room. My mom was gone, on purpose, so there is no way I can go back home. And I'm not gonna walk ten miles home. I sat in the circle with the other girls. I was an outsider, a wierdo. The only girl in black and hair so short that can't put it up. Our teacher, as I learned later Mrs. Doris, made us do a few warmup moves. All the other girls started chatting while doing the moves as a piece of cake. I couldn't even touch the tip of my toe. I was being ignored. I backed up, so I was out of the circle. Although it was only an hour and thirty minutes, for me we had been doing strange moves I couldn't manage for hours and hours. Why mom, why? She knows I hate these kind of things, where I don't belong. And she was wrong, it didn't get my mind off things. Instead, it made me sick, I wondered why I wasn't as thin as the other girls. So my new best friend except my razor became my toothbrush which now I use to make me throw up.


13 of April

My mom insists for me to stay home as last week. She thinks I'm sick, since I haven't been eating, almost at all. But no, what my problem is my jean size. I feel like a pig. No wonder I'm not attractive... So I stayed home, watching TV. Then I went out and bought flowers for Lucifer. No, I didn't forget about him. I never will. I went over to where he lay. Now how peaceful he is. I wish I could be like him. Actually, I can, but things are not that bad yet. Death isn't my answer, or is it? But what is there after