Depression

Suicide attempt

The knife cuts deep. Blood starts to rush out. He doesn't know why he's doing it, he just knows that the pain feels oh so good. It makes him feel alive. It helps him know that he hasn't gone completely numb. That some parts of him still have feeling left long after its left everywhere else.

Not that it matters anymore.

This probably wasn't the best time or place for it, but he didn't feel like there was a time or place for anything anymore. Everyone else had fell asleep a long time ago, and his dad had left for work, so he'd been left to himself. He had all the time in the world to do what ever he wanted.

He'd been cutting for a long time now, every time going deeper and deeper. How long ago did he start? A year? Two years? He didn't know anymore. For all he cared he coulda been doing it all his life, although he hasn't.

No matter how hard he had tryed he couldn't pin-point the reason behind him doing it, other then liking the pain. Maybe it was punishment for destroying his parents marriage.. Or maybe it was because the girl he wanted was just a little to far out of his reach.. Or maybe it was just because he hated everything.

But you can't just hate everything. It's not possible. And even if it was there had to be a reason, but he couldn't think of one. Maybe it was just everything that had happened to him the past two years. His mom and step-father had split, which he didn't care much about. It was the after effects that effected him so badly.

He had been living with his mom since his parents divorced. He didn't really like Jason, his step-father but he didn't really have much choice in who his mother marrided.

His mom had disappeared without a note or message. Nothing. She left him and Jason in the dark. He had tryed to reach her via text message, about four days after she disappeared, but didn't get much of a reply.

Jason bursted into his room

"Have you been talking to your mother?" He asked. His face was red and had streams of dryed tears covering it.

"I've been trying to reach her for a while but she hasn't sent much of an answer back"

"Well tell her if she don't show up soon your gonna have to call nine one one!"

He turned and left the room. At that moment he didn't know what to think. Was he threating to hurt him or himself? He didn't know and he didn't wanna find out so he grabbed a few things, shoved them into a bookbag, and left his room.

He found Jason crying in the living room.

"I'm gonna go out for a bike ride."

His step-father didn't reply so he left him to drown in his tears and left on bike. His dad came and picked him up later at a friends house.

That's when it started to get ugly. His mom turned into a drunk, but he didn't care. He just wanted to stick by her side, so for the next few months he wouldn't know where he would be sleeping from night to night, and when she finally found a place for them to stay for a while she spent most her time out getting drunk while he sat there. Alone in the emptiness.

He took the blade away from his wrist and dropped it on his bed, covered in blood.

"I deserve this." He thought picking up a jug. "I'm a worthless, good for nothing, sack of shit that deserves this. The quicker I get this done the quicker people can just forget about the pain I cause. I deserve this more then anyone in the world"

He brought the jug to his lips but he couldn't do it. He counted to three. Didn't work. Swore on himself, made him feel like he was actually worthless. Still didn't work. He got so desperate he put on a song with so many bad memories he thought it would work for sure. He just ended up crying even more.

He felt like he wanted this more then anything in the world but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He thought that this was a cure to the desease known as himself.

He stood up and walked over to his mirror, jug in hand. He observed the cuts on the arm in the mirror. He hadn't realized so much blood had ran out. His wrist was covered in it. He didn't care.

He lifted the jug to his lips once again, quickly sifting through memories. He found one and put the jug down to laugh. The laughter soon turned to tears.

What was he doing? Throwing his life away for nothing? All those memories, and more to come, gone in the matter of a night. He didn't want to admit it to himself, he couldn't, but he knew it. He did still care but he didn't want to.

Not careing and not wanting to care are two completely different things.. Not careing is ignoring the burn as the contents of the jug run down your throat. Not wanting to care is trying to ignore the unbearable pain. He did care.

"SHERRY!" He yelled as the liquid burned and bubbled inside of him. He didn't want to die. Not this way, at least.

He ran to the bathroom trying with everything he had in him to hold down the liquid but his body couldn't handle it.

After it was done and his stepmother had called nine one one, he couldn't stop telling her how sorry he was. Not that he tryed to commit suicide but that he had to pick such a painful and suffering way. He didn't have much of a choice though. His dad kept all the guns under lock and key, and he didn't really have many other ideas.

But then again, maybe suicide wasn't the best idea in itself..