My Past, Present but I shall conquer for my Future

I wrote this for a competition that I entered. It is unfortunately what I and many other people with my illness go though, I wouldn't wish it upon anyone, but it is not just for attention

As I sit on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, no light shines through, just me with my thoughts swarming inside my my mind of how imperfect I am and why EVERYTHING seems to go wrong for me. I sit there in silence and just wait for someone to hear my internal screams for help, for a life that isn't mine, for a clean slate inside my head, for anything that isn't this... I am alone in a pool of my own blood with a razor in one hand and a clenched fist is my other, I sit there thinking about how I have let myself down, my parents and all those people who try to help me. Sometimes the medication doesn't help... sometimes it just numbs my pain a bit. I have resulted to other forms of mutilation to my body like Useless piercings and a finger down my throat to try and disguise my pain to the naked eye and to control my pain... but this time, its different. I NEED to see the blood, I NEED to control my pain in my own way. It sounds crazy to others but to me this is life. After a while I manage to drag myself of the crimson shade of tiles and turn the shower on but use only the hot water handle. I feel like now I need to punish myself again for doing this for I know how sad and secretly sad it makes my mother. So many times she has found me in the same position, time after time. She has bandaged my scars and tried to heal my heart, soul and mind. All sharp objects are hidden away in this house just for that reason, but unfortunately for her, I keep my emergency stash of razors inside my mattress for emergency times like these... Before I make another scar I close my eyes and a tear runs down my cheek and under my breath I whisper only the word "sorry" and think of my mother. I hop into the shower and curl up the fetal position on the tiles which are now warming up from beneath me from the steaming hot water running above. It stings my cuts and open wounds but not as much as the pain that I feel from inside. When I am like this i care about nothing at all, My hair is soaked through with hot water and blood, my face is a mess with my fake face washing down to make black lines in a downwards pattern, my lipstick is smudged and my eyes are cold. What kind of monster am I? I am a different kind of monster.... one who uses their own pain to get to others. Even though I am only physically hurting myself... I imagine those who have hurt me so deep down in my soul and just let out a cry of "This Is For You!".... even though they will never know...