I curl up into a small ball on the floor, bleeding from my wrists and upper thighs. I tighten my grip on the razor in my hand, cutting deep into my skin. What did I do wrong to deserve this? Why was my life such a living hell? Because I was me...because I was Scarlet Snipes. I stand up and flip through the pages in my black sketchbook, spotting my pictures of Andy Beirsack, John Cooper and Marilyn Manson. I keep flipping to an empty page and start to sloppily write.
Dear family and friends,
I realize my life was just a complete mistake. I should stop living in a day dream and come into reality for once. I always hid how I felt and tried to help others but I finally realized something...who is going to help me?
I stare down at the paper, lightly covered in tears and blood from my cut wrist. I bury my head into my arms, crying till I can't breathe. I hear my phone vibrate on my desk but I ignore it and keep sobbing into my arms. It keeps on vibrating like it was broken so I lift my head up watching the light flash over and over again. I pick it up and read through the messages, some from my dad and some from my best friends. I don't even read through, I just throw my phone into my trash can and slide down into the corner in my room. I will never be perfect. How can people even stand my presence? I claw at my face with my nails, leaving visible marks.
Why can't I just die already?
