reclusive .

broken .

The thoughts came rushing in later that evening, hitting me like a train, and I started to panic. I locked my door and closed my blinds, trying to fight back The Urge, but it kept tempting me, it kept telling me much better I would feel after.

I clutch my head, falling to my knees as the tears came pouring down.

I'm a useless freak who doesn't talk. I always get my hopes up, but I need to realize, no one wil ever like me. No one wants to have to put up with my insecurities, no one wants a sorry kid hanging around them. I'm ugly and I'm stupid and I'll never have a life of my own. I'll always have to rely on someone, I'll never be independent. I'm a worthless, fragile piece of shit.

The voices wouldn't stop, no matter how much I begged, no matter how hard I cried, no matter how loud I screamed, the were relentless. Constantly eating at my brain, until I couldn't handle any more, and I finally snapped, and I finally realised just how broken I was.

So I rushed into my bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, reaching for the familiar box of razors. I slam the door closed and open the box hastily. I grab a razor and hold it between my thumb and my index finger, examining it closely before taking off all my bracelets.

In times like this, I'm not here. I'm not concious. It's like...I'm on auto-pilot. 

I slide down the counter and pull my knees up to my chest, draping my left arm across my knees before pressing the razor into it. In one quick swipe, small beads of blood were bubbling out of the small cut. I hiss quietly, but move the razor up my wrist before slicing again.With a sigh, I restmy head against the cabinet and let my eyes close in contentment.