I sat at my desk with my head resting on my folded arms; my room only faintly lit from lamp. I licked my lips and sighed, picking my head up to face the wall in front of me. Slowly I opened the my top drawer and picked up my desk organizer to find my razors. I picked one up and turned it around in my fingers; the light reflected off of it. Part of me that believed I needed to throw it away, but my mind overpowered it repeating "keep it... you need it..." and I surrendered. I pushed my sleeve up and slowly ran the blade across my skin, not enough to cut; but enough to feel it. However, as the blade made it's way down my arm approaching my wrist I bit my lip and slowly, I cut my skin. I watched my blood escape as it formed a ribbon of red that wrapped around my arm but I didn't react much as I was filled with almost a form of pleasure, as I finally felt something other than the numbness... I actually didn't feel dead. But I hate it. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I hate myself for turning into this person that I can't even recognize in the mirror. I hate myself for not being happy. In fact, it's been so long I don't even think I can remember what it's like to be happy. Part of me just wants it to all end. That way I wouldn't have to deal with the bullshit from home, from school, from everything.... My life has just become this never ending battle, and I'm afraid that Im going to lose. But here's the thing, depression is not something you can see. You can't just look at someone and know what's going on in their mind, and that's why people don't seem to really give it much attention. And because it's not given much attention people don't talk about it, it's more or less pushed under the rug which leaves people to deal with it themselves. You don't know who to talk to because it makes you feel like you're alone. People don't understand that it's actually hard to get up out of bed and get what you need to get done. They don't get that it's actually exhausting to do even the simplest task... they just say that you're lazy or that you're not trying hard enough. And to people who actually know about your depression, they assume that if you smile or laugh you're fine; they think that the depression went away and that you're better. It doesn't work like that. Depression can't just go away at the snap of a finger though, I wish it could... This past winter break, I almost tried to kill myself. I think I need help, I think I need to get it before I end up actually doing it. But I don't want to... I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what people are going to think of me if I do get help, and I'm afraid of what people might think of me if I don't get help. I just really wish I knew what to do.
