Writing Exercise

I felt the urge to pee. I really felt like peeing. My legs shook the way they do when you're holding your piss in.
 

More than that, though, I felt like dying. The giant pail of cold water lay before me--swishing gently left and right to the rhythm of my footfalls.

I could hear two of them arguing outside. My nose touched my twin's in the liquid reflection. I recalled what one of them said: "More than twice a day." I recalled what one of them said years ago: "... ugly..."

I'd heard about choking yourself to get high. Perhaps drowning would be the same. If I came up for air.

My entire face was submerged in coldness. My head felt light as it bobbed on the surface, held under water by the minutest of forces.

I came up for air. Plenty of time before I'd feel light-headed. Outside, two of them argued.

I remembered cutting skin--first the wrists, then the arms, the legs, the stomach, even the breasts. You don't get high on cutting. You just get distracted. But you never forget, not for a moment.

I went under again, deeper. I heard the water spill out of my tiny pool. My hearing was fuzzy beneath the surface. The voices outside--angry, exasperated--were inaudible. A door was slammed--that much was clear. Another slam. It was closer; it made the floor tremble.

I could feel my heart begin to race, begin to fight for blood, for oxygen, for life. Hard plastic dug into my collarbone, and it began to smart. I could still feel. And I wasn't getting high. I felt the cold seep into my clothes, my skin. I considered for a while staying under. I considered drowning. Drowning was on my list: "40 Ways to Kill Yourself."

I never believed in inner voices before. But this time was real, and I could hear it, coaxing, "Do it. Do it." A chant.

Seconds later, my face dripping wet and my T-shirt soaked, I was looking in the mirror. I wanted to throw a brick at my head.

After the worst of it, I wrote this. This account. This narration. Midway through, I decided to post it for people to see, to read, deciding to label it, "Writing Exercise" to fool them into thinking it's fake--fiction, my own thoughts running rampant.

They decide whether to file this under fiction or non.