Cling, cling, cling!
The noise sounded as my fork tapped against the porcelain plate, my food no longer steaming and untouched just like it had been when it was first set out.
Sato sat across from me, her head resting on her hands as she looked deeply at me as the sea slowly swayed back and forth in her iris. An upside-down smile plastered across her face as her mouth slowly chewed the remaining food.
"Do you not like it? The food, I mean." She spoke wearily with a hesitant tone. I slowly lifted my head from my plate of the multitude of colours and faced in her direction whilst simultaneously not making eye contact.
"No, it's nothing of the sort. I guess I'm just not all that hungry." I replied with a weak smile.
"You haven't acted like yourself for a while now. I know your parent's death affected you, but ever since you returned to school two years ago your attitude and demeanour have made an unexpected 180-degree turn. Is everything okay? Maybe you need to see a therapist or something?" Her voice became frailer and trailed off as she saw the bags under my eyes and at my skinny face. My skin was as pale as flour and my smile screamed out for help.
I shook my head gently from side to side fixated on my stance. "I assure you, I'm ok. I'll probably get over it soon." My attempt to comfort her was pathetic. Her face only grew darker and tears slowly welled in her eyes. It wasn't the right time to think this but she looked beautiful when sad. It was like those artistic paintings that held much sorrow yet contained vast beauty.
"I'm going to go wash up."
"Okay. You do that and I'll clean up after dinner."
The days that lasted like years passed like an eternity and my behaviour grew more concerning for Sato. I had no intention of worrying her, but all the positivity, all the wishful thinking had been sapped from my mind. I was constantly tired and bound to my bed. My mind locked itself in the comfort of my house, the warmth of the blanket and the grey sky that approached almost every evening. I grew weak mentally and started blaming myself for all the misfortune being placed upon me and my parents and the worry held by my carer the person closest to me. As a way of atoning and forgiving myself, I began cutting myself.
I remember the first time I did it. The desperation I felt as I crept through the house. Sato was asleep at this point so I made an effort not to wake her. The cold floor I tread on was unironically the warmest sensation I had felt for a long time. When I picked up the kitchen knife, a sense of guilt had lifted itself out of me magically even if a little. All for the wrong reasons though. I was guilty of what was happening to me, but I was placing guilt on myself for the wrong reasons.
Though, that didn't cross my mind that night as I made a slow cut along my forearm blood slowly leaking. I made sure not to cut too deep to not get an easy way out of the punishment, but instead a fairly shallow cut that would sting and remind me of the pain constantly in small surges.
I stared for multiple moments at the leaking wound before cleaning the knife thoroughly and heading back into my room. I would leave my wound gaping and I would drift off. No matter how misfortunate my life was, my dreams could at least help me escape...right? No. That was not the case. Suffering is what my dreams gave me. A repeat of that same dreaded night that played on a loop along with the trauma I suffered at school at the hand of the people who distanced themselves from me yet always held on with a deceiving grasp. Laughs echoed and woke me in a cold sweat.
After my regular self-harm started, I would no longer attend school unless there was a test involved that would count towards my grades. But on the days I did return I was welcomed by a physical hello. I remember the diamond pattern of the iron gates imprinting itself along my back as they slammed me into it continuously. They made sure to give me the treatment that I missed out on all those days when I didn't attend.
My anxiety sprouted from the small seedling that was left after the bullying, harassment and abuse that was hurled and now bloomed into a healthy and sturdy root that claimed my mind alongside all my other worries. I let my hair grow well past my eyes as an excuse to not look people in the eye and I would always cover myself up, no matter the weather, in fear I would get recognised and shamed.
My life no longer seemed like much of a life and everything in it became meaningless. The world around me had decayed, the only bits remaining were the ones in my current view. Yet even then, their colour was sapped and the edges crumbled into nothing as a looming shadow in the shape of a dangling rope hung over me.