Aissyla4u - Alyssia

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aissyla4u

11 months ago

:✧･ﾟ:Entomophobia:･ﾟ✧:

Bugs. Evelyn always hated them. The mere sight of a beetle makes her jump. And don’t even get her started on spiders. One day, she saw one in her bedroom; slept on the couch for 3 days. The presence of a bug gives her the feeling that there are 7 extra somewhere. She hates cleaning even more. The stench of strong lemon and bleach, dust from the vacuum, filthy water from the mop bucket while pouring it out. It makes her feel like there are bugs crawling on her. While she lays in bed at night, under her covers. She feels them. Crawling. Everywhere. Every night, under her covers, she gets a deep sense of revolsion and disgust swept over her as she scratched and scraped her skin, desperate to rid herself of the disgusting grime and grease on her body. It takes everything in her to not make slits and cuts in her skin get rid of this deplorable feeling. When she showers, she scrubs and exfoliates her skin til it bleeds. Every time her head gets itchy, she wants to scrub and wash her hair, even though she just washed it the night before. She can just feel the bugs crawling and gnawing on her scalp. She’s terrified of lice. Evelyn hates knowing that there are little microscopic creatures on our face and body, biting at dead skin cells. She’s just glad she can’t feel those too.

Don’t get her wrong, she loves living in an clean environment. But the process of cleaning and maintaining stresses her out more than it should.

Eccedentesiast.

Estelle’s thighs ached and throbbed, the wounds were warm to the touch, but everything felt so cold. The dim lights illuminated the blood on her hands and legs. Eyes were red from crying, she couldn’t bare to look at myself in the mirror. Estelle looked a mess, not she even would choose her.

Curling up on the cold bathroom floor, feeling like she was as worthless as the floor itself. Despite her pain; inside, she felt nothing. And she hated herself for it. Picking up the blade, she made 5 more Tally marks in her skin. The blood dripped and smearing across the tile floor. Her throat felt hard, like there was a rock that refused to move. She slit more lines. 5, 10, 15. Each going higher and higher, some overlapping.

The sick feeling of frustration and self disgust flooded her like a freezing wind. Estelle was nothing more than a tool for others. Only used for pleasure and entertainment, she felt like she was on top of the world. But now that everyone’s gone, the suffocating sensation of hate and loneliness filled her. She knew she was being used, as the butt of every joke, ridiculed and mocked behind her back. But she could help but laugh. Laugh at her own stupidity, laugh at her lack of personality. No one wanted her, not even the one she loved most.

The pressing, scaring feeling of everyone hitting her, grabbing her hair and arms, twisting her skin. The feeling of being touched below stung. Knowing that she was nothing more than entertainment, that she was only an object to be played with. She grew into that. Everyday, Estelle gets up and makes sure she looks her best. Because why else does anyone talk to her? How else does she get anyone’s attention? Estelle craved the feeling of something warm, the feeling of excitement and enjoyment she felt 2 years ago. Now that will be nothing but a dream. Tears ran down Estelle’s cheeks, her face twisted into a smile. She wanted to scream, she wanted to spill everything about how she’s been feeling to the next person who would care to listen. But she couldn’t. What if it was too much? What if she was too much? She was too intense for a lot of people, even her own boyfriend couldn’t handle her. The rock in her throat got larger, choking her, keeping Estelle from speaking. She could only curl into a ball and cry.