Heavy Rain

What happens when you think life is over?
Do you look at your accomplishments? Or your failures?
Do you look at what you did do, or what you should have done?
Do you look at your choices, or the ones you didn't make?
Do you regret?
You can tell a lot about a person on how they act when they look back on their life. Are they embracers? Or dwellers?
I am an embracer. I look back at my past and I accept it. But just because you accept it, doesn't mean you have to deal with it right.
That's why I slit my wrists. I took a razor and cut into my veins, watching the warm, crimson liquid drip out of my milky wrists. I watched it drip onto the tiles, splashing my skin ever so slightly. The clang of the razor in the bowl of the sink still rings in my ears. My note was stapled to my sketch pad, laying on my bed. Maybe if someone payed attention they might find me. I stared at my reflection in front of me. He looked so broken, so alone. He was. That's why I fell to the floor, my knees going weak from blood loss. I landed with a thud on the cold bathroom floor.
"Anthony?! Anthony!!" My 'mother' screamed, banging on the door.
"Call 911!" She yelled to her husband. When the door was opened, and sirens were waking the whole neighborhood outside, I excepted he darkness that was aching to over come me. My mission was over. The deed was done.