More by Miley Simmonds

Breathing. Heavy, panicked breathing that echoed through the small bedroom. Why was it so hot in here? I shoved off the covers and stared up at the ceiling. Stop Being Dramatic was painted in black ink. A scream wanted to escape my throat, but I knew it wouldn’t help; it never helped. Instead, I pushed up out of bed and let my bare feet hit the cold floor.

Slowly, I made my way to my full-length mirror. My bland brown hair was frizzy, and my part was all messed up. My eyes had giant grey bags under them, and my cheeks looked extra puffy today.

You’re ugly

You’re fat

You're so disgusting

STOP TRYING

My breath hitched as the inky black words wrote themselves across the reflective glass. I needed to leave; I needed to get out of this room. Just as I reached the door, black ink came alive across the doorknob

You can’t escape this

It was right, the hallway wasn’t any better. I stopped reading all the words, but I still knew what they were. I felt my pace quickening as I ran to the bathroom. My fingers gripped the counter, trying to calm down, but instead, I found myself squeezing it so tight, just trying to gain some sort of control.

I began to run a brush through my hair, pulling harder whenever it hit a snag, just trying to make the world stop, just trying to feel something.

I don’t want to feel like this anymore!

Like a reply, the black ink showed up. Everyone feels like this.

EVERYONE?

Yes, this is life, stop searching!

Was this all there was?

I rushed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, where my playlist was already playing. Songs I had related to for years, yet now I found no comfort in. I related to them even to the point where, like the artists, I never found any hope.

Was hope still a thing? Has it ever been a thing?

My flight mode kicked in, and I rushed to the living room where all of my “cures” were kept. The books that gave advice were piled much too high on the ground where there should’ve been bookshelves. My numbing substances were all over in various forms. My TV was still flickering on and off with my scandalous content.

I felt tears tracing their way down my jaw, and I tried to use the heel of my hand to brush them off, but they never came off.

Please stop!

I turned to look at my reflection in the window, but found myself covered in black ink. Every cruel word that had ever left my lips covered my arms, my legs covered in all of my past wrongs.

I revealed what I saw, and my fist reached for the glass, shattering it, bringing my knuckle up bleeding, yet I still didn’t feel the pain.

More words began to write themselves on my hand.  THERE’S NOTHING MORE, THIS IS IT

A new noise erupted, a gust of wind rushing through the whole house, causing it to shake, and slowly cracks began to cover the ink-ridden walls.

Then the front door opened and a beam of light ran through the house, seeming to find me. The closer I got to the door, the more rapidly the words began to form, constantly arguing with me, as I went towards the light.

He doesn’t have what you need

He can’t redeem you

You’re worthless to Him

Stop!

But I didn’t, because as much as I hated to leave my home, no matter how much it hurt me, I knew there was more.

I needed more.