Jax

Sharp

With every passing day, it seems harder and harder to go on. Will I make it out of this? Will something or someone pull me out?

I can't help to think to end it all. No one will even notice. Not even bat and eyelash. No one is here for me. No one.

What shall I do in a time like this? To ease the pain. To find a way out.

Cutting is the only cure.

I sit in my little room at the corner of the hall. I live with my mom and brother, who is 16.

There's no point in going on.

I weakly get up from lying on my faux fur rug, which is covered with a layer of dirt, not able to see the true beauty because of all the messes it has soaked up.

I am home alone at last. The only time I get to do this.

I grasp the handle of my door, the cold metal spreading like a wildfire through my body, sending shivers down my spine.

A dim light is coming from the kitchen around the corner. As I move closer, I spot the knife box.

Which shall I use? Which will ease the pain? To make it go away.

I lift each one slowly from its slot, the blade slowly appearing into the air.

I finally choose a simple but sharp knife. Not to big and not to small.

I hold the blade up and stroke it with my pointer finger, feeling the smooth metal rub across my delicate tip.

As I make my way to the bathroom, I lift my sleeve to my elbow, exposing the horizontal scars creeping closer upward.

Closing the door to the bathroom, I turn the light on and sink to the floor.

I start to shake, preparing myself for the calm pain awaiting. I fumble with the knife and bring it to my flesh. I slide it across my skin with a piercing pain running through my veins. I cut twice, a third time. And make myself stop.

I cry out in pain. It relaxes me, dropping the knife, I lay my head down on the tile, letting the blood drip to the floor.

Deep down I know it's wrong, cutting myself, I know it does not calm me down or relax me. It in fact makes things worse.

I could never tell anyone, in spite of what they might think of me.

Finally sitting up, I grab a roll of toilet paper and quickly wrap it around my damp wound that I splashed with water and medicine. The pain going away as I cover the air from going in relaxes me even more.

I grab the knife and head to the kitchen to wash my blood off.

God what a mess I've made of myself.

Tears freely fall down my cheeks as I head back to my room.

I drift to sleep and think, How... will... I ever... get... out... of this?

Hey guys! Hope you like it so far! Love you! Message me any time please!

-Jamers