I talk to my therapist about you

Fear and doom

It felt as though it lasted a lifetime, a neverending abyss of fear and doom.
My mother had found me hugging my knees on the ground, and somehow managed to fetch me from the temporary hell I was witnessing.
"Why isn't this good enough for you?" She demanded, obviously deteritoing in patience.
I was looking forward to being happy. I was a fraction optimistic about these pills working, yet somehow it still hurt me knowing it would never be genuine happiness.Simply a false drug that would plague and trick my mind into believing I was content.
My failure to reply to her made her patience decrease even further.
"You don't even try!" She stood up, her face twisted into a destructive combination of sadness and anger.
My sobbing began again,building up into somber wails of sorrow. It was too much. I had already escaped one panic attack yet this feeling felt much stronger.
My nails crept to the comfort of my skin once again, scratching at it as my mother stormed out the room. Scratch. Scratch. Dig.
I dug my nails into my skin,feeling a layer peel up slightly as the urge to destroy overwhelmed me.
I clicked the case from the back of my phone, allow the soft clink of metal to hit my knee and bounce to the ground.
I had to destroy. I had to destroy something, and I was my own victim.
I pinched the tiny blade in my middle finger and thumb, and pressed it into my delicate skin and allowed it to silently slice through and seperate my skin.
Ruby beads arose from the gap, expanding and turning into rivers.
Deeper.
I pressed further with the blade,letting it cut through layer after layer of skin. Layer after layer of every mistake I had made in my pathetic little life.
Before I knew it, my entire right arm was heavily striped with bleeding lines, and my surrounding areas was stained with the evidence.