The Beginning of the End

II.

*Warning: Some pretty intense violence*

I still don't know what made me press the pretty dull blade to my wrist, but I did. I've never known that I could be capable of cutting myself, but the Claire thing was just really tough on me. I bit my lip as hard as I could to keep from screaming.

I threw the blade aside, losing its way deep within the realms of my oddly neat, clean, and unnecessarily large bathroom. I leaned over the sink, watching the blood cluster together near the sink drain. A deep gash just inches beneath the bottom of my hand started oozing vast amounts of blood.

I looked up, looking at the thing... the creature that was supposed to be me. Normal for the most part: defined jawline, defined shoulder and neck muscles, bulging biceps, a bit of abs poking from beneath my loose t-shirt. I felt like a living stereotype. And I always have.

The big brown eyes that stared back at me freaked the hell out of me. They were so large and laced with fatigue. I threw a glance to the creature's oddly satisfyingly soft and tousled brown hair.

It was me. The breakup had taken a toll on my sanity. I hadn't talked to Shaun in days and I don't think I could bring myself to even talk about what I had made myself do.

And as school was nearing the corner with just over a month away until it started, I was beginning to lose my shit. Holy fuck, did anyone know about what happened? Maybe I could just skip out of school. No one would have to know, no one would care anyway. And in my book, that was a big plus.

And while I did have lots of connections on my own and through Claire, so did Shaun. Knowing his big mouth and her douche-y personality that thirsted for gossip, the secret wouldn't be kept quiet for long.

But once again, I was distracted once more from the blinding pain of moving ever so slightly. Little had I known that the blood continued to gush from my cut without stopping and didn't look like it would halt anytime soon. I turned the faucet quickly—it squeaking while I did so—and filled my free palm with water.

And I bit my lip as hard as I could that I felt it would bleed as badly as my fucking hand. So I splashed the water to my wound and felt the pain increase times a septillion. My back arched and I felt like the bitch from "The Exorcist." It was 12:30 in the morning, and I couldn't afford to scream unless I wanted my mom to come into my room and pass out and then my sister would come in right after and pass out as well because she would see my bloody-ass wrist and my mom who would be passed out. And then I'd eventually pass out too because two of my family members would have passed out right in front me and also because of blood loss.

Keeping it scientific. 

And since I didn't want my wound to get worse, I grabbed some toilet paper and started applying pressure to it. I slumped on the toilet realizing how crappy my life was. Here I was, having been cheated on and depended on cutting to get my mind off things.

Thinking back to middle school, all those talks about depression and suicide were coming to life. Of course I wasn't suicidal... I think. But wasn't self-harm a symptom of suicide...? And were they even called "symptoms" of suicide? My mind was so fucked up.

I immediately put all my negative thoughts aside and just did what every adult tries to tell you when you're stressed out of your mind: breathe.

And knowing my mom—who happens to freak out every other minute by reasons I don't know to this day—I knew that she would come to my room to check up on me. And she did. She slammed incredibly hard on my door, and I grew worried that she'd bash it in. When I don't respond to her knock, it only makes her more nervous than she was before.