What have I done? I make no sense.

  Yesterday I cut again for the first time in months. I still don’t completely register why, but my heart was beating so fast and my palms where bleeding sweat. I wanted to scream, jump out of my body, and break everything. Take pieces of shattered glass from my mirror and slit my wrists. I wanted to die so bad I could taste the death on my tongue. So I took the old razor from my bathroom and slit up and down my legs and arms. What I thought were just a few cuts were many and they were scattered all over my legs. I was pleased with my work and I sang this Cristina Perry song called the ‘Lonely’ and I just felt like I had finally lost it. I felt like a crazy and delusional asylum patient and I finally felt peace. I had never been so crazy and I never have really let it go. I had held so much in that it felt so good to get it out.

       My arms and legs were on fire, sweet pain it was so good to feel battered and breakable. Losing it once in a while wasn’t as scary as holding it all inside.

   I think I did it mostly not just to get it out but to see if any one would notice I was losing it. See my brother is the center of everyone’s attention because he’s the baby and he’s filled with hyperactivity. So that day I was starting to have some anxiety and I didn’t want to cause more trouble by telling my grandma. I just went and decided to take a break and try to get my heart rate down. It was beating so fast I could hear my chest thumping and feel my self throbbing. I paced around my room and sang as loud as I could to block out the piercing sound of my heartbeat fasting. Then the idea popped in my head; Cut until it stops, lose yourself and bleed the anxiety out. And you know the rest; I got the razor and shredded my body into fine red lines.

     Well I locked my door while doing this and thought maybe someone would try to check on me and then notice I locked the door. See I have a history of self-harm and I am diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression so I am not allowed to lock my door. Stupidly I must have hadn’t closed the door good enough because it shook and opened but no one came in. No one was there to rescue me and clean my wounds. All I want is some shred of love here, someone to tell me “It’s okay, you’re all right” or at least give me a hug? Just show me that I’m still as important as I was before he came. I’m such a child aren’t I? Attention hog, a stupid white depressed idiot with no life. A joke.

     All I want is to be wanted, but no matter what I always push them away with my disease. Sometimes I think I was built to be a used up play thing that only gives happiness when other people need it. I’m just a comfort zone that you step in once in a while to feel whole again. Bless the people who are like this. Used up, washed away, suffering from a desire that is just a dead dream.