19.) “It ripped her open-“

Chapter 7
page 145
paragraph 2

The car that killed Myrtle ripped her body apart.

I understand that this is about Myrtle being killed, but when I read it, it reminded me of when you hear something you don’t want to hear. I remember hearing many things throughout the four years I dated — and each one always destroyed me. Every single time I heard something, it felt like my insides were trying to displace themselves and rip out of my body. It felt like every cell was trying to rip apart every inch of flesh encasing them inside of me. My legs would always wobble and I’d fall to the floor, as if I had never known how to walk and stand on my own two feet. My chest would feel tight and tense. It was like my rib cage was trying to suffocate my lungs and stop them from keeping my body oxygenated. My mind turned into a pit of ashes and seemed like it wanted to shut down. It was like all of my nerve controls exploded, leaving behind toxic gases that began to attack my brain. It was like the “toxins”, destroyed everything except for the emotional parts in my head- it seemed to amplify those. My eyes would circle around the room and I’d feel light headed and everything in the room would spin, as if my own eyeballs were a merry go round at a theme park. My stomach would feel like it was turning inside out and like all of it’s acids where squeezing into the rest of my body, causing me to scream in a shrill, high-pitched voice- the kind you hear on crime scene shows, when somebodies getting murdered. I felt like my heart was ripping and coming apart within itself, and the pain was unbearable. Now, I live by the motto “what you don’t know can’t hurt you”, and I make sure everybody knows to keep their mouths quiet and to not tell me anything. 

The Itch

I feel that familiar ‘itch’, again. It’s a feeling I know all too well. It’s calling out to me.

I feel like if I don’t relieve the ‘itch’, I will explode and crumble at the feet of the darkness.

I feel it crawling through my skin, pulling at my emotions, tugging on the nerves that connect my thoughts to my actions.

I can’t do this. I have let the ‘itch’ take over me, take over my soul.

I lift the blade. It comes crashing towards my arm like a violent wave, tearing and ripping me apart.
There is blood everywhere, dripping down my arm like a beautiful dancer floating through a field.

The ‘itch’ is gone, and so am I.