Cuts

As a disclaimer, I don't do this to myself. Well, not to this extent...

You think I'm safer when I'm in my room. But you don't know what happens behind closed doors. The music is so loud that you can't hear me scream and uss that I hate them. I hate my classmates. I hate my teachers. I hate my parents. I hate the people that look at me on the streets. They all tell me I'm not good. They don't even have to f*****g say it, I can see it in their eyes.
I hate myself too. I hate myself because I can't prove to all of them that I am good.

You've taken away everything you thought I would hurt myself with. But you didn't really care enough to look. You just took my scissors and an old knife that I had stashed in the drawer. I still have the razor. Why did you over look that? It sits in the shower coated in blood, it's a little obvious.
But that just proves how little you actually care about me.
No one truly understands what happens in my head. No one knows how much pain swirls around in my brain. Hell, no one should have to. It's a sick place, my head. Why? Because all that's there is the reminders of no one loving me, people laughing in my face, looking in the mirror and hating my reflection, the thoughts of not waking up in the morning.
If you lived a day with my thoughts, you would want to die too.
I take out my razor. I hold one arm over the trash bin and slice my flesh. The warm red blood drips into the bin, sliding down the sides. The pain from the deep gashes is beautiful. It makes me feel in control for once. It makes me forget about all the pain outside of that door and makes me only think about the pain in my wrist.
As horrible as this sounds, and how much it sounds like I would love to just cut a vein and bleed out, I don't. I haven't tried to kill myself, never planned to, never really wanted to. Yes, I would sometimes like to just die, but not by suicide. There's always that possibility that everything will get better, right? All of this might go away, like clouds after a storm.
All I really want at this point is for the emotional pain to stop, for people to stop hurting me so badly. I also want the strength to stop hurting myself like this, but cutting has become my addiction. I promise myself that it will never happen again, then I let myself down.
Will it all stop on its own, or do I have to fix this on my own? Sometimes ending all of the pain seems impossible, and those are the days I want to die. But sometimes it looks so easy, like if I were to just say this is it, no more, and it will be gone.
I just wish there was someone out there that knew what to do, because I sure don't.

Author's Note

This is a super old story from middle school. I found it crumpled up under my books today and decided to post it. This isn't about my own experiences.

Reviews

[GrandDystopia]

Compared to your normal work, this was very dark and sad, very affecting.
I have friends who have cut them selves for some simaler(spell fail) reasons and you seemed to understand what a person goes through.
Well done:)

[adekmrsuy]

The piece has a very strong and clear voice. I like how you explored the inner dialogue within the narration. Thanks for sharing your earlier work.