Evrythng_im_not
November 30th, 2008, 11:50 PM
I was fine. I went three months without touching, or even thinking about touching, a razor blade. I was doing great, I let everyone know that I was going to be fine. I didn't know that I wasn't. That I was only on the verge of a break down.
August 24, 2008, midnight:
Me and my roommate are at it yet again. Yelling and screaming because he's trying to control my life again. I have lived without him for months before, and now he's trying to tell me that I can't. The screaming gets louder, and I hit him first. I'm standing in the bathroom now, and our voices echo around us. He decides to bring up my little "habit" of cutting myself open. He dared me to do it again. He pulled out his cerated pocket knife, that could easily cut through anything, and holds it out to me. "Do it! You won't". I wish he had never said those words.
My bathroom was painted red. The second the knife touched my skin, I knew nothing good was going to happen. It went everywhere, down my clothes, on the walls, in the tub. I screamed for him to help me, and all he would do was stare at me. He finally went to get a cloth to wrap it, but at that point all was numb. I told him to leave, that I would take care of it. I wanted to shut and lock the door and continue to bleed my life away. I wanted him to hurt for hurting me.
My ex girlfriend drove me to the hospital, and was by my side the entire time. I had about fifteen stitches, a good portion of them holding my muscle together. Six hours after I arrived, I finally got to leave. A doctor had the nerve to tell me that people don't die from bleeding out of their wrist. I wanted to rip the bandages and everything away to prove him wrong. People die every day that way. And I pray every night now that I will never be one of them, that I will be stronger. But every night, that prayer becomes weaker as I do.
I can count up to 20 fresh scars on my arm. I have no feeling in my left arm, from months ago, so I didn't notice all I had done. I fear I will never be fully okay. I hope that no one else ever feels like this, or has to go through what I went through. Nothing will ever be the same again, and that's what hurts the most. I will forever have a reminder that I shouldn't be alive.
August 24, 2008, midnight:
Me and my roommate are at it yet again. Yelling and screaming because he's trying to control my life again. I have lived without him for months before, and now he's trying to tell me that I can't. The screaming gets louder, and I hit him first. I'm standing in the bathroom now, and our voices echo around us. He decides to bring up my little "habit" of cutting myself open. He dared me to do it again. He pulled out his cerated pocket knife, that could easily cut through anything, and holds it out to me. "Do it! You won't". I wish he had never said those words.
My bathroom was painted red. The second the knife touched my skin, I knew nothing good was going to happen. It went everywhere, down my clothes, on the walls, in the tub. I screamed for him to help me, and all he would do was stare at me. He finally went to get a cloth to wrap it, but at that point all was numb. I told him to leave, that I would take care of it. I wanted to shut and lock the door and continue to bleed my life away. I wanted him to hurt for hurting me.
My ex girlfriend drove me to the hospital, and was by my side the entire time. I had about fifteen stitches, a good portion of them holding my muscle together. Six hours after I arrived, I finally got to leave. A doctor had the nerve to tell me that people don't die from bleeding out of their wrist. I wanted to rip the bandages and everything away to prove him wrong. People die every day that way. And I pray every night now that I will never be one of them, that I will be stronger. But every night, that prayer becomes weaker as I do.
I can count up to 20 fresh scars on my arm. I have no feeling in my left arm, from months ago, so I didn't notice all I had done. I fear I will never be fully okay. I hope that no one else ever feels like this, or has to go through what I went through. Nothing will ever be the same again, and that's what hurts the most. I will forever have a reminder that I shouldn't be alive.