Pete's trapped in his head. self harm and suicide
I tried so many times to fix things. Being trapped inside my own mind isn’t as great as you might think. I can feel myself pulling the blade up and down my wrists, making deep cuts that ooze red liquid as I continue hitting the inside of my own mind. I know this isn’t me. This is the ‘me’ I can’t stand. The ‘me’ that can never be happy.
I’m sprawled out on the floor, blood flowing from me like a river. I can’t focus and everything is blurred. I’m choking and spluttering as I try and look around the room. Every few seconds my body jerks up as I force myself to breathe. My neck swings from side to side and my eyes are moving too fast for me to know what I’m looking at. My thoughts are distorted and mute. The house is silent and I’m in too much pain to scream. I know no one will come and find me because so one lives here. Not anymore. Because in a matter of minutes I won’t exist and there will just be a corpse slumped on the floor, left to rot.
I’m still trying to free myself, but it’s becoming harder. I can no longer scream and my movements are slow and painful. I know I’m dying. I know, deep down, there are things worth living for, I’m sure. I know I just have to find them. But my thoughts are becoming more pessimistic and I’m starting to believe I’ve done the right thing, that I’ve made the right decision for once.
The pain is unbearable. I’m choking. I’m spinning. I have no idea what I’m doing. I can’t tell anymore. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. Everything is distorted. Normally, thins sort of pain would make people cry, but I don’t have the strength to even do that. The pain is leaving now. I feel like I’m flying. I know what’s happening.
I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dead.