Sometimes I get in dazes where I just stare at things and I can't stop. Sometimes it's just a mud stain on the floor...but my mind twists back to the suicidal thoughts and the mud stain turns to a pool of blood. This used to happen to me all the time in high school. I would picture myself sitting in my desk, going crazy, like I was in actuality half the time I was in school. In my fantasy I pulled out the razor and I start cutting my arm up underneath my shirt (i used to do that during class-not for attention [!] no one knew, i was very very discreet, and knew my limit). Of course, no one noticed. In my fantasy I kept doing it and I got so fucking unstable and it just wasn't making me feel any better so i turned my arms over and just SLASHED. I chopped through veins and muscle and tendons, through nerves long since dead from previous cutting....I cut without pretention, cut without boundary, cut without any sense of depth or pain. The blood flowed from my arms like water, covering my wrists and pouring over the palms of my hands, dripping from my fingers onto the floor. The blood soaked the carpet a deep brown color and began to spread into a puddle...which grew and grew until the whole area around my desk was soaking wet and my shoes sloshed in the thick redness. I screamed and cut and screamed and cried and I laughed and hurt and I spit on myself and hated myself. and no one even noticed. the blood kept spurting out of my wrists as if the blood would never run out. my body, my ugly fat body, began to weaken from the blood loss and i grew faint. but i still watched as the life spilled from me onto the faded carpet. the wooden desk shone as the sticky red liquid filled the graffiti carved into it. my head began to spin and i fell from my desk onto the floor. facedown in my own blood i laughed and i began to crawl towards the door. with the blood pooling around me, i pulled myself to the front of the class and stood up. they all looked at me finally, gasping, wanting explanation, wanting resolution, wanting to get the inside story to tell their friends later..."yeah man, then she like said..." i just stared each and every one of them in the eye and bled. i let the blood run down the sides of my body, trickle down the line of my hip, down my thighs, down to my feet. and i wept. and all i could say was how much it hurt to feel so alone for so long. i screamed that all i ever FUCKING WANTED WAS SOMEONE TO CARE FOR ME JUST ONE FUCKING PERSON JUST ONE FUCKING PERSON!!! FUCK FUCK!!!!
they all gaped at me. no one moved their eyes from me, and no one moved to help me. me, a spectacle of pain and loneliness, a show, a laugh, a pitiful dying empty girl. i fell to the floor. i gasped for air. my bleeding was slowing. i turned my head and all of the eyes were away from me. everyone was back to their conversations and their laughter. i rocked in a puddle of cold blood and shut my eyes and waited for the pounding in my head to stop, for the pain in my heart to ease itself for once in my life. as my body died, i realized i was already dead in every way a person can be dead. and i ached with it. i ached with it.