Suicidal monologue

My hand slipping around the comfort of the handle. Feeling it fit perfectly into my hand. Molded. Drawing it out, the tears rolling down my cheeks. Wet, damp trails. Blurred by tears I can vaguely see the sharp silver blade. One side, sharp and cutting. Fatal. The other...Never used. Blunt. The thought of accidently cutting yourself on that side is preposterous. Why's that? Because that's the side everyone forgets about. The side that is always there but never noticed.

Taking my hand from my mouth, I realise I have been biting my nails again unconsciously I can practically hear my mother scolding me for it. Running my thumb across the blade, my hand shaking uncontrollably. I see my nail chewed down to the bed, all ragged and bloody. I feel the memorable sharp sting of it slicing into the pad of my thumb. Pain. That's what I deserve. I can already feel the walls I have spent so much time building crumbling down inside of me. My heart beats getting louder. Louder. LOUDER. I need a release. A closure. Something that stops this pain.

I move to the wrist. The familiar numbness spread through my body, through every nerve in my body. I welcome it. But the pain never stops. A constant flow, like tinnitus. Long gone is the feeling of calmness. Gone the impassive face. When I'm alone it all comes crashing down.

Images flashing in my head. Faces. Tears. Blood. My feelings? I felt anger. Anger because I'm not strong enough to handle everything. Pain because of what is happening to me. Sadness because I know no one will miss me when I'm gone. Sadness in knowing that my family will be too ashamed to tell people that I took my own life not some heroic death.

Death. I used to fear it, cower whenever I heard the word or avoided it at all circumstances. But now, I embrace it. Death and I already have had a close encounter, close enough that you could call him my friend. All of this merging into one to create the one word everyone fears. Suicidal.

Many people think they know what suicidal is. Well lets be honest with ourselves. We all think we know what suicidal means. But I promise you. It is NOTHING like we expect. It's when you don't care anymore. Don't feel anything apart from overwhelming depression. Sadness. Pain. When your family looks at you worryingly because you never smile anymore. Your friends forever asking you out. Come to the cinema? Stay at mine tonight? You plaster a fake smile on your face and tell them excuses, you can't or I'm away with the family. Soon it feels so fake you don't even bother anymore because you ask yourself one question: What's the point?