The pain. The voices. Neither will stop. I cried all I could, screamed until my throat was raw but the voices still yelled and the thoughts were screaming. Just one cut is all I planned but with every cut the voices calmed and quieted more and more. I know what they want. We share a common enemy. Myself. As the voices started to quiet some I glanced down and slowly repeated:
One cut
Two cut
Three cuts
Four.
Watch the blood gush and pour
Five cuts
Six cuts
Seven
Eight.
Im the person the voices hate
Its not to bad not to deep
Its not for pain
Just relief
The voices have stopped talking with not even a whisper. I lay down for bed now like every night I survive. But my dreams haunt me to and want me to die. I see her happy. She has moved on. Im just existing, dying more and more every day. I wake up, its 3am. The voices shout "DO IT AGAIN." My whimper for mercy is drowned out by shouts. My plead for life is now about to die out. So I grab my gun, load it with the safety off. Cock the gun with the voices waiting in anticipation. Aim the gun, holding the grip tight. Just pull the trigger and it will be alright.
YOU ARE READING
You Will Survive.
NouvellesShort stories on various mental illnesses. Some known and common, while others are not.
