Possible trigger warning. I wrote this in ninth grade, semi based on my feelings, not my situation.
Depression. Since school started, itâs been all I felt. But the thing is⌠I donât know why. I started cutting, finding release, hell, relief in the feeling of the blade slicing through my skin. With my razor, I know I can feel something other than depression, or worse, numbness⌠even if it is pain.
My friends know. They think they can help⌠but they canât. No one can. I see the questions in their eyes as they talk to me, I can see their eyes wandering to the scars I havenât hidden⌠and the scars I have. They know theyâre there, and when our eyes meet again, theyâre silently screaming âWhy?â But I wonât break; I wonât let them know how much I hurt inside. I wonât bring them down with me. Theyâre too good for that⌠too good for me.
I know I shouldnât do this. I shouldnât hold in my hurt, my pain, my sadness. I should find some comfort other than the blessed blade. But after days like today, thereâs no hope. People donât realize that Iâm not as hardened as I play to be. The whispers, the stares, I know what they say about me behind my back. Loner, outcast⌠freak. They donât know how much their words hurt, more than any incision I ever made.
I'm picking me apart again
Unless I try to start again
My friends say I think too much. They say if I just let go of things and move on that I wouldnât be this way. They could be right.
I don't want to be the one
Who battles always choose
That I'm the one confused
I don't know what's worth fighting for
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit tonight
I get myself in situations that are way over my head. Arguments with my parents⌠saying things that I know hurt them. Screaming, yelling âIâm sorry Iâm such a bad kid! Maybe it would be better if I wasnât here!â Because of this, they search my room, finding all my blades⌠except one. After school, that lone blade will be my salvation.
I wonât kill myself. Unlike most depressed people, Iâm not suicidal. No, I wonât give the world that satisfaction. I wonât let them know they get to me.
I try to catch my breath again
I have no options left again
Maybe my friends are right⌠I do have a pretty fucked-up philosophy on life. Maybe this one time, I wonât cut. Maybe⌠just maybeâŚ
I donât want to be the one
Who battles always choose
That I'm the one confused
I don't know what's worth fighting for
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
So, I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit tonight
The phone rings, and I can hear them downstairs, yelling. Bottles fall, glass breaks. I look at my mirror, seeing myself inside, seeing what the world sees: an outcast, a loner⌠a freak. Itâs too much, I canât take it. I punched my mirror, tears flowing freely down my cheeks, and grab my razor. Steeling myself, I slowly, deliberately slide the blade along my inner forearm, between my wrist and my elbow. The pain is rapturous. I can feel the blood surfacing, spreading over my skin. This cutâs a little deeper than I normally go, but thatâs okay. The pain is worth it. I never let it bleed too much⌠never enough to lose too much blood⌠but enough to scar.
I'll paint it on the walls
Cuz I'm the one that falls
I don't know what's worth fighting for
But now I have some clarity
I don't know how I got this way
So, I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit tonight
I breathe a sigh of quiet relief as I feel my arm throb. A knock comes to my door. âAre you alright?â someone asks. I look at my gash and smile ever so slightly. âI am now.â