Tracey

I'm Tracey and I'm 17 years old.

Listen only to the sound of
 my voice. Let your mind relax. Let your thoughts drift. Let the bad memories fade. Let peace be upon you. Surrender yourself to your dreams. Let them wash over you like the gentle waves of the bluest ocean. Let them envelop you. Comfort you. Imagine somewhere calm. Imagine somewhere safe. Imagine yourself... in a frozen forest. You're standing in a clearing. The trees around you so tall they touch the sky. Pure white snowflakes fall all around. You can feel them melt on your skin. You are not cold. It cannot overcome the warmth of your beating heart. Can you hear it? You only have to listen... Do you hear it slowing? You are slowing it. You are in control. Calm. At peace.

 You... little... pussy; That's what my old man called me. It stuck with my name. And I proved him right. By killin' all the wrong people. I love you. I'll never call you anything, but your name, but you gotta decide: Are you gonna lay there, swallow that blood in your mouth? Or, you gonna stand up, spit it out, and go spill theirs?

I don't want to see anyone. I lie in the bedroom with the curtains drawn and nothingness washing over me like a sluggish wave. Whatever is happening to me is my own fault. I have done something wrong, something so huge I can't even see it, something that's drowning me. I am inadequate and stupid, without worth. I might as well be dead.