Losing Myself

I ran into the bathroom with tries rolling down my face. I hurry into the stale and lock the door before anyone can see me. I've been told that crying is a sign of weakness.

That's why I don't cry in front of people. I pull my purse off my shoulder and dig through it looking for my blade. Once I find the medicine bottle that I hide my blade in I take it out. At first I rethink hurt myself but then I remember the pain that the other people caused me and I don't care.

I place it down and take off my jacket. My old scares reveling themselves. I take the blade and press it against my skin. I feel the pain at first but I'm so use to it that it doesn't hurt as bad. I feel the sting and I know I've gone as deep as I should. I look down and see the blood rising from the now fresh cut.

The blood runs down my arm a little bit and I let it. I make three or four more and watch the blood flow. I don't feel hurt anymore. I feel better. I head out of the stale making sure no one was in here. I wash my arm and blade off. I put it back in its container and back into my purse. I make sure my wounds won't bleed anymore and I pull my jacket back on.

I sigh this is my cycle. Get hurt I cut. It helps so I'm not complaining. I head out of the bathroom acting normal as if nothin had just happened.

As if I hadn't just watched myself bleed. As if I didn't do anything. This was my life. Now it's time to put on my mask and act like nothing happened. As if I'm this perfect girl everyone thinks me to be.