Hidden Demons

She stood there, shaking silently, staring in the mirror at the empty pale figure in front of her.  She felt cold, anxiety coursing through her body like adrenaline. What had she done? She was perfect to the world: a model student, a caring individual, and a stencil of a perfect person. What if someone found out what she had done? Who would love her if they saw her now, hands dripping with blood, blue bags under her eyes, a mess.  The smell of copper teased her nostrils, the blood starting to dry and crust, the only reminder of time passing. Snapping her stare away from the mirror, she scrubbed her hands furiously under steaming water. Slowly, the pink stain running down the drain faded, hands purified from the sin of harming her worst enemy - herself.  She pulled her sleeves down tight, dabbed cover up under her eyes, and scolded herself in the mirror for being so pathetic and weak. Just get help! a voice inside her screamed. But then someone will know. No, no one can know. She would be humiliated and any relationships she had left would be gone. It’s better this way.  She gave a convincing smile to the devil in the mirror; surprised she could pull off this extent of fake sincerity. Maybe she should go into acting. She hefted her backpack on, and made her way to class. It was hot and sunny but she wore a jacket for obvious reasons. People laughed at her for always being cold. She laughed with them at her own coldness.

Sometimes she would get the urge to pull up her sleeves a bit to see if anyone would notice – or care. She often teased her thumb and finger in circles around the fabric of the cuff, imagining what the rush of being found out would feel like.  These daydreams always ended with her grip tightening around the cuff, panicked that her secret would be unveiled.  Was she depressed? She didn’t really know. That word certainly snaked around her thoughts on bad days. Most of the time she was just empty, as long as she didn’t think. Thinking was the worst thing, the most harmful thing for her. Sometimes though, like today, she would let herself think, let herself be leveled by all the feelings she’s ever felt, all the hurt and madness and crippling pain that she has every experienced all at once. Why don’t they dull with time? Everyone else’s sufferings seem to.  But her heart remains at the junction; it freezes and melts at the same time and it breaks every second of every day. It’s called freezer burn, right? When something is left too long in the darkness and crystals form between its fibers. Her freezer burned heart. She laughs at the poetic nature of her stinging throbbing tight aching beaten broken anguished heart.