Less Than Human

                The figure reflected against the mirror that stared straight at felt alien to her.  She watched on as the skin around its mouth stretched out grotesquely and revealed a set of yellowing teeth. There it was again, practicing another hopeless smile. She had long ago already retreated into the depths of her skin, trying to put as much distance between herself and life. Her body continued to move as always, smiling at the people around her, working hard at it's job, the automatic routine that she had engraved into a husk by years of repetition. Days passed as she stared at a foreign life through a pair vacant eyes. Her soul had lost touch with the body, no longer able to feel anything anymore, her mind merely flickered through the scenes of the day as if watching a movie. What had happened to her? Why was she no longer satisfied with her life? Her life was fine: she had family, friends, and financial stability; there was absolutely nothing for her to be upset about. Yet every day she could feel herself become emptier as her emotions slowly faded away until all she could feel was exhaustion. And so, she buried herself away into the depths of her physical self, the only self the people around her could really see.

                It wasn’t as if no one tried to understand her, but it was difficult for her to consult anyone when she, herself, couldn't understand what was wrong. Cut away from her still functioning body, her worn down soul tried to hold itself together, desperately trying to catch the flesh of her spirit as it dropped away, chunk by chunk. She could feel herself breaking down, however the only sensation it caused was a dull ache somewhere her heart was supposed to be. Her body mechanically continued an empty life while her soul disintegrated. As time passed, everyone grew to be mere strangers. No one was looking at her anymore, they were all too busy getting to know the empty doll that paraded around as herself. It was sickening. The more people she grew distant from, the more meat fell off the body of her real soul. She was becoming a broken bag of bones, surrounded by pulsating meat that refused to stick together, trapped inside a doll that continued to breathe for her. Still, all she felt was a growing sense of hollowness sometimes accompanied by an ache that she could not place. There was no pain or fear, just the sound of a physical heart pounding away without a care.

                Months passed without much change: her body was still intact and her soul was still scattering but the ache invaded her entire chunked up soul. It wasn’t a physical pain as she had long lost touch with her nervous system but it was an ache refused to leave. It wallowed within her, refusing to let go, driving her into madness. She desperately wished it to stop, to leave her alone, but it wouldn’t. An idea occurred to her when the body’s glazed eyes felt upon her arm. She knew that pieces her soul were trapped underneath the thick hide so maybe if she was able to physically scar her soul, the pain could override the unknown ache. And so, for the first time in a long time, she made the alien body momentarily hers and drove into the flesh the only thing within reaching distance of herself: a ballpoint pen. The sharp pain that shocked her body was pleasant in a way. It was the first thing she had ever felt other than the dull ache since she had retreated far away from life and she felt refreshingly alive. However, it was not enough. Harm inflicted on the body would heal soon enough, but she needed to wake her soul.

-That Weird Girl

I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this idea. I just had to get it out there so here it is. It's incomplete and I doubt I'll ever complete it.

PS: I don't think self-harm is ever a good solution, please don't do it.