So here I am, fighting a battle in my head that I've fought millions, no, trillions of times. I hold the razor to my thigh, contemplating letting the scarlet red liquid waterfalls loose. No one understands the virtues in the vice. Do I fall into the darkness? Or do I crawl out of the deep pit I've dug for myself? Maybe I could find comfort in drugs? Alcohol? I look around tears stream down my face, why do I put myself through these things, I only make my own problems worse. I'm an idiot. I understand why everyone beats on me, why nobody cares, why nobody likes me. I'm stupid, worthless, ugly, crazy and I can't leave my house without my blade... I need to break the habit, put the blade down. I repeat the sentence in my mind Put the blade down, Anna, put it down. ANNA, drop the blade. You're an idiot for thinking cutting will fix your problems. Throw the blade out! I think these things until they become actions. I lift the blade off my thigh and get out of my bedroom, I run outside of my house and I run for minutes, until I realize I dropped the blade along the way... I run back to my house, I'm not any happier, I don't feel any better, and I don't think any more of myself. I still think of myself as a pathetic broken loser, who did something smart on a whim. That's it, I'm broken, A broken toy, a misfit, an outcast, a loner. I hold off the dark, for yet another night, but I can only survive for so long.
