As sharp as a blade

Introduction

This damn world is full of delusional people who call people like me, delusional. They just don't get it, all they ever do is cause each other pain. It's fucking annoying. I've had these thoughts for as long as I can remember really. I just never thought how strong they could get. My parents didn't know the full strength and depth of it until they found me in my room, huddled to a wall, using my own blood as finger paint on the walls. My arms gashed, and my thighs burning and oozing blood. My blood. That happened about five years ago. About a week after my fourteenth birthday. I was having a panic attack because of over thinking. it happens many times but trust me, that was the scariest of panic attacks I've had. Well, they aren't scary to me anymore, they are normal.
Six years ago my father found out I had been cutting my thighs with a razor, at the time I didn't know how to take the blade out of the plastic so I would brush both blades, basically just the razor, against my thighs and laugh as the blood trickled down to my ankles and onto the bathtub floor, anyway, he yelled at me as always and forced me to start talking to a therapist again.
When I say again, I mean it, the last time I went to this therapist was when I was 11 years old. I was sexually harassed by another girl from the ages of six to ten. But that's in the past and I would rather forget the memory if that is okay.
I talked to the therapist, and she tricked me, she made me feel comfortable and like I wasn't alone just so I would let out me deepest secrets. They then put me in a god damned mental hospital for 10 days, it would have been longer if I didn't pretend to be "cured" and if my dad had the money. They shoved many different and confusing pills at me and told me to take them. All of which made me feel even more depressed than I already was.
I tried to kill myself about 12 times in all of my life.
I was only caught once when I was in 8th grade. Panic attack, ran away from school grounds out into the road, tried to get hit by an on coming truck. Didn't work out at all. The truck swerved and ran into a tree, killing the driver on impact and the passenger died on the way to the hospital. That's when the real violent thoughts occurred. I watched the crash happen and couldn't help but notice how beautiful the scene looked when the driver's seat belt oddly snapped, causing him to go through the windshield. his face halfway ripped off and a shard of glass sticking out of his eye ball and his throat. I felt a strange craving feeling in my stomach as adrenaline rushes through my veins. The fuckwit principle tackled me down though and my father drove me home, yelling and crying and shaking at me the whole way to our mediocre house.
I was shaken by the whole accident but not totally with fear, but also with adrenaline and a craving to see the driver's corpse again.
My dad stuck me in group therapy to get away from me. Apparently I've been acting strange to him because he kept sideways glancing at me when he thought I wasn't looking.

Anywhore, here I am today... in college and still going to group therapy. I could have stopped but I grew attached to the people there, a couple of them became my close friends. One even has a baby now, I adore babies and animals so much btw.