It's Not a Gift It's a Curse

"I never knew you could draw," Eli stated.

My breathing hitched in the back of my throat. "O-oh it's nothing," I stuttered trying to grab the picture Eli had a hold of to see which one it was. I let out a barely audible sigh if relief when I saw it was only a picture of a comic book styled person.

"No seriously you have some sort of gift," Eli reassured.

"More like a curse…" I mumbled so Eli couldn't hear me.

"What was that?" He inquired.

"Nothing-" I was cut off by Eli's phone's text tone.

"Hold that thought buddy I got to go," Eli said after glancing at his phone.

"Oka-" that was all I got out until my bedroom door slammed signaling Eli's hurried exit.

"Probably Clare…" I whispered, not that anyone would hear me. I'm such a third wheel no matter what. Guy-time has ceased to exist and I'm always second. I pulled out a sketchbook from under a stack of papers and started to flip through it looking for an empty page to draw on I passed page after page of gory, twisted drawings that I was the main character of. One page was of me carelessly hanging from my ceiling, another was one of me with a Chelsea smile carved into my cheeks, the further I went the more frequent the drawings became. I have one for every time someone lets me down it's my coping mechanism that started when I was very little around the time my dad left. When I was 11 I was diagnosed with borderline personality, the doctor said it had something to do with my broken family my mom always blamed herself. I have an intense fear of being alone so whenever someone leaves me or disappoints me I feel an extreme void even if the person is not meaning it in a malicious way. I found an empty page and started drawing the feeling elated me though it was very masochistic if I don't draw I burn. Feeling a new burst of inspirationI took up a new writing instrument and a new canvas and started my work. The picture what simple but different it stirred something inside me a need, a want, for someone to hold me and tell me its okay, for someone to kiss all my scars and tell me I'll get better, for someone to simply love me for who I am. I threw the sketchbook and the writing instrument aside and walked out of my room I needed fresh air. I walked downstairs, no one was there, I called out for someone, anyone, but no one answered. I'm alone. I left the house not caring enough to lock the door. I ran. Away from the house. Away from the sketchbook. Away from everything. Though I fear being alone I also fear intimacy I'm never going to be pleased and I've come to know this. I just wanted it to end all of it the mixed emotions, the fears, the panic. I ran until I got to the park and rain started to pour. I sat on a bench and cried I wanted to be numb, like Eli when he was on his meds.

"What's wrong?" I've never seen anyone so sad, what on earth could be so bad?" a person asked me.

"Everything," I mumbled "it's just all messed up."

"Dude I didn't notice it was you!" The person who I now identified as Eli exclaimed

"It's stupid really. I'm sure you'll find it childish." I answered

"I've done my fair share of stupid stuff, you know I'll never judge you." Eli stated sitting down.

"Okay, so you know how you called me a talented artist?" I paused and he nodded "well you've only seen one picture. The truth is…" I trailed off not wanting to tell him. He just stayed the way he was listening intently not caring that he was getting soaked. "The truth is I draw pictures of me killing myself or of me hurting myself. It's a way for me to cope and after you left without goodbye. I don't I felt… I felt…"

"Abandoned" He finished for me "I'm sorry I didn't know that I had that effect on you Adam."

"You're one of my only friends," I choked back tears. I contemplated for a second on whether or not to show him my new picture. I pulled up my sleeve and held my arm out to him. "ALONE" was etched into it and it was still bleeding. He traced his fingers over the letters. Before taking out a sharpie from his pocket "You're not in this alone, you'll get better" was all he wrote. He leaned down and kissed a scar that was not covered in blood.

"How'd you know?" I asked. "How'd you know that was all I ever wanted?"

"I'm doing what feels right. You're my best friend and you are very much loved. I wouldn't want to lose you," He said before kissing me.

"I can't believe you just did that and I can't believe I just liked it," I breathed out kissing him again. "My talent is not a gift it's a curse."

"A curse you've been set free from?" He asked me draping his arm around me.

"Yes," I smiled at him.

I can draw a lovely picture,

But this story has a twist,

My pencil is a razor and my canvas is my wrist.

With my artwork fading,

Quite slowly on my arm,

The pain is not racing through me,

And I know that I'll never cause myself harm.

I used to draw a lovely picture,

But this story had a twist,

My mind was my razor and my heart was on my wrist.