I've been fighting a relapse recently. Sometimes when I'm in the car I think about it, when I'm driving. I remember how I used to wake up early and get in my car and sit in my car in the school parking lot with a razor blade. I hid a razor behind the mirror in my visor and just sat there and cut over and over, wishing I had some sort of disease where my blood didn't clot.

I don't know why I liked it, why I still miss it. I just feel like giving in would relieve so much of the stress I feel, but I know if I give in I won't stop. If I start again, I could fall back down into the well I was drowning in before I attempted suicide.

There were kids at the mental hospital that had thick deep bright pink scars that would never heal, I have only one of those. But I remember being there and feeling this… SICK sense of jealousy, almost like I wasn't good enough because their cuts were deeper and wider. Like they were stronger than me because they could force the razor deep into their arms and legs.

I don't want to want this, you know? It's like an old addict. I miss it, but it's hard to remember how miserable it made me.
MissAutumn MissAutumn
18-21, F
Aug 21, 2014