As I took the knife, I stared at it as I sighed quietly in the bathroom in the middle of the night, everyone in the house was sleeping, no one was doubting something was up at this time. I started pulling the knife through my skin to make a cut, it hurt but I couldn't care less. I felt an emotional pain which I needed to replace with a physical pain. And turns out, cutting myself was the way I found to cope with that pain. It can seem dumb to some people, but that's just how I deal with my issues. I noticed my arm, bleeding slowly as I continued numbly cutting my arm. I put the knife down to take a paper tissue to clean up the mess I've done with the blood and cuts. In some way crying wasn't an option to express my pain anymore since my eyes were dry and wasn't allowing me to have tears rolling down my cheeks but instead my blood dripping to accumulate from the sadness and pain...
