• I'm weak, bleeding and have lost hope again.

    Not like I do it 'cause I want to. You know the worst day you ever had, where everything crashes down, and your only relief is when you go to sleep and wake the next day? Well that's my everyday, but no the sleep to cure the worst.

    I cut, you know. Not deep enough to permanently sleep, but enough to rest a while.

    Sometimes on my arms, or my legs by the ankles. When it gets bad enough I'll take the blade to my ribs near to my heart. The scars never fade away. The discolored skin stays forever. Reminding me of my weakness, my failure.

    I don't have and accepting religion to help me. I don't tell friends. I don't brag. Its a secret of mine (a horrid one.) I keep it to myself.

    I got really depressed once. Really bad. I cut deep four times. Four. I bleed so much I passed out. I didn't die. I wasn't lucky enough for that, no. When I woke up I wiped my arms clean and burned the sheets in the woods. Not like my parents cared. They were out drinking again. They say their going to work but the smell when they come home gives it all away.

    I take to wearing sweatshirts, I knew it looked odd during June, but I was okay that way. I learned how to pull up the sleeves and not show the scabbing wounds.

    I keep at it for two years. No break, no point. Why stop the only thing keeping you from death? (Even if it sometimes brings you closer.) Every new slash brought some relief and some hope for emotions to stop. The emotions are overwhelming during the day and the blood relief helped.

    I hate them. Those idiots. "Haha! Cutters should just do a favor and kill themselves so we can stop hearing about them!" Students are so stupid to think that. What if someone were to? Would they think the same? Probably. Kids are stupid like that.

    I can't smile or laugh like I used to. Too bitter for that. These people are all so happy and I'm here ruining it. They say how their weekend was and i stay silent. Teachers give back tests. They give me another one of those looks, they say, "You can do better. Study a bit." I ignore them. They are stupid to think that I would want to try at anything. If it isn't easy then I don't do it. The end.

    I had a process. I get the blade, rubbing alcohol, some lotion, and a bag of cotton balls.

    First you clean the blade of blood from last time. You rub lotion on the area to prepare it. After your done cutting you clean it and don't wrap it. You can't. Too many bandages would be needed. So you wrap then in black cloth. From that shirt you destroyed a year or so ago.

    I didn't write love on my arms. I wrote memory's of self hate,hate for the world, hate for everything. I carved these memories into my skin deep enough that I'll never forget them.