Perspectives

4. Nahuel

I walked home and sat down in my room.  I looked around and made sure that my door was closed.  I opened the drawer to my desk and pulled out the white folded paper.  I un-folded it and let my closest friend for the last few years glitter and clatter down onto the wooden desk.  I picked up the razor blade and sank it into the skin on my left writ.  I slid it across my skin and picked it up to reveal a deep cut on the bottom of my wrist.  I repeated the process again.  Again. Again. Again.  Again.  It hurt.  I bled onto the cool wooden surface.  My eyes dripped with tears.  I pick the blade up and walk to the bathroom.  Turn on the sink.  

Turn on the sink.

Turn on the sink.

Hot water.

I slammed my wrists into the cold porcelain sink and let the hot water pulse through the open wounds and clean them.

Sting them.

Burn them.

Hurt them.

Wash it away

Everything I've done

Let the regret float away

Down the drain.

Forget what I did

Forget that I love her

Forget that I will never get her

Blond hair.

Blue eyes.

Clear white skin.

Turn off the sink, Nahuel.

I turned the sink off and got a rag.  I put pressure on one wrist until it stopped bleeding.  I move the rag to the other wrist.  I let it heal. Almost.  Lost too much blood. 

Collapse. 

Black.  

Nothing.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I wake up a while later to find that I had passed out on my bed.  My arms have stopped bleeding.  I look at them to see that I had cut from my wrist to the crease of my elbow on both arms and now had scabs there.  my fingers had dried blood and little scratches on them from holding the razor-blade tightly in my hands.  I looked at my desk which had pools of my own blood all over the surface.  My razor blade had fallen to the floor and had left a little scrape mark from where the end dug into the hard wood floor when I passed out.  I went to the bathroom to get a new rag.  

The scene in the bathroom was much worse.  The sink was full of blood and the floor had more stains on it.  I felt dizzy, still.  I had lost far too much blood.  When I go into these moods, I need to cut myself.  I need to hurt myself.  I don't even know how much I cut when I'm in these moods.  It hurts so bad to rinse them in the hot water afterwards, but it is necessary.  

I picked up a new rag and wet it slightly in the sink.  I wiped down the desk until my blood was all gone.  I cleaned up the floor where my razor blade had fallen and picked the blade up.  I walked it to the bathroom and cleaned that.  Then, I cleaned my razor blade.  I know that I hurt myself, but it needs to be clean so I don't get infected.  I folded it bak into the piece of paper and put it into the desk.  I put on a new shirt and put my bloody one into the laundry in the middle, so no one would see it.  Then, I put on a jacket so no one could see my arms.  

I walked over and stroked my fingers over the small scrape in the floor.  My mom would get mad.  I don't care, I hate this stupid apartment.  I wish we could just stay somewhere and not move anymore.  I wish i could stay somewhere and not move anywhere...

I walked over and not caring how early it was, I crawled into my bed fully-clothed.  I fell asleep and did not dream.  The way I act toward my mother, my brother, and all of my friends, it's like i'm already dead...