• I wake up to the sound of my phone alarm going off. 5:30 am. No. I’m sleeping more. I reset my alarm to go off in another half hour.

    Again it goes off, and I actually get up this time.

    I go in the kitchen and put a piece of bread into the toaster, and get in the shower.

    I can see my blood flowing from my arm where the cuts reopened along with some newer ones I did. It was all flowing straight down into the drain. It’s a good thing mom works so much.

    I get out of the shower, wrap up where I’m bleeding, then I go finish getting ready for school.

    School day goes by as usual, everyone thinks I’m fine. No one notices the bandages. No one notices the blood on them. No one notices that I actually hurt. I fake a smile and they can’t see through it. They can’t tell I’m lying. They all think I’m perfectly fine.

    Seventh period. I sit right next to my friend James. He’s the only one who actually knows what’s going on. He’s the only one I’ll basically talk to about any of this stuff. Only thing is, I can’t really hide anything from him. He notices everything, and I mean everything. He can tell when I cut, even if it’s well hidden, or if I’m upset about something even a little bit. That’s how he found out. That’s also kind of how I met him too.

    “New cuts?” He asks as he starts pulling out his math book.
    “No…” I mumble as I get my own book.
    “You’re lying.” Jeez. Can you read my mind or something?!
    “Why do you think that?” I ask calmly.
    “I can just tell. That, and the fact I can see the wrapping on your arm that you’re trying to hide under your sleeves.”
    “I was cold.”
    “One. It’s summer. Two. There’s blood on the wrappings.”
    I don’t answer him.
    “So what made you do it this time?” He was opening his book, “Page sixty-five.”
    “Tell me.”
    “Because I said.”
    “Do I have no choice?”
    “Nope, tell me. Now.”
    “I don’t wanna.”
    “I don’t care. Tell me.”
    He waits for a moment for me to speak. “You’re not telling me.”
    “I just… Like… It’s just…” I can feel myself start to shake and my eyes starting to tear up. Don’t freak out. Don’t. Especially don’t cry. You can’t cry in front of these people. Especially not him. Don’t cry! I take a deep breath and continue. My voice still shaking. “These thoughts just won’t go away.” I say just barely above a whisper, “I think of doing far worse than I have done, but I haven’t yet. I think of doing stuff like killing myself, or really seriously injuring myself. I know I shouldn’t though. But I feel like I really really want to. The idea of dying doesn’t scare me anymore. Hurting myself doesn’t even faze me anymore. If anything it’s like I don’t feel it. The fact that none of this scares me is what I’m worried about.”
    “And that should worry you.” He says
    “I just… I just can’t…” I can feel tears starting to roll down my cheeks, “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t take it. I want it to end. I can’t handle it anymore.” I can’t stop crying, “I can’t do it…I-I just…James, I’m scared.”

    The rest of the period passed in silence. No one but James noticed I had been crying, No one asked. James looked over at me a few times then went back to his work, that was about it. I get home, do what homework I had been assigned, then try to write my English paper again.

    Everything in my life seems to keep spiraling downward. It hasn’t always been this way though. I used to spend time with my mom before she started working so much, I used to like wearing shorts and skirts and stuff, and I used to not have to lie. Lying used to make me actually feel bad. And now it’s become a way of living for me. I can’t take this anymore. I just want it to end.

    Can’t really use that either. I fold it up, put t in my drawer, and go to bed