"You promised me you'd stop."
"I promised." I whispered to myself. "Y-yeah. I don't feel good I'll be out in a second." I stare down at the metal in my hand again. "I promised." I said quieter. I quickly dragged the razor across my lower arm near my elbow. I cut shallow so I didn't see any blood which started to get me upset. I cut deeper until the blood trailed along after the blade. Some might say it's weird that I like to see my own blood, but if you put it into my perspective it's not all that strange. It's a feeling of dominance. Complete and utter control. I can control how much I bleed, how deep I cut, who sees and who doesn't, how many days I go without it, and how long the cut is. "I promised." I mouthed to myself as tears dripped onto my wrist.
Cutting has been my only form of relief to all this pain. What else am I going to do if I don't cut? How can I take this pain? I know it would hurt my mother if she found out. I know it would dissapoint her. But that just makes me want to reach for the razor again. She wants me to be happy and perfect. But I'm not happy and I'm definitely not perfect. I'm a human and I have feelings. Why can't she understand that? Why can't she hold me and tell me everything will be alright instead of yelling at me? Why can't she understand that this is the only way I know how to cope with pain? Why doesn't she accept me? Why? Why am I such a horrible person that she has to yell at me all the time and find fault in everything I do? Why can't I be happy and normal? I don't understand any of it. I try so hard to be perfect for everyone but I always fail and end up letting someone down. I lay awake in my bed at night and wonder what is wrong with me. I can't sleep. I'm so confused. I feel so lost. And now I feel even more alone.
"Cameron?" Ryan says through the door. "Please don't be doing what I think you're doing." I hear him whisper as he walks away. I run cold water over my newly opened cut. Not only did I hurt myself but now I also hurt my friend. I'm just a big dissapointment to everyone. I can't do anything right.
I have no one to talk to now. Now I can't even talk to my counselor at school. Now I have no one. No one at all. I feel totally isolated, abandoned, and hopeless. And I feel so scared. So very scared. I need help.
School stresses me out... emotionally drains me. I see all these people my age who seem so happy and so normal. It makes me realize how much of a crazed nutcase I am, and that scares me. Why am I such a freak? God how I hate that word. I wish people could see how much I hate myself. I wish I had somebody to talk to... or just sit by me so that I would atleast feel a little safer. I get so lonely in my house sometimes. I need help. I'm sick. I'm not normal. I just feel so rejected and alone all of the time. Why can't somebody else see that I'm not ok?! Why won't somebody tell me that I'm stupid?! I need someone to tell me they hate me as much as I hate myself. Why?! Why won't somebody notice and put a stop to it?! I feel so embarrased that people know. I feel stupid, untrusted, untrusting, and hated. I wish someone would save me.
I feel the urge to cut again. Just to feel the release again.
"No." I tell myself. "You're not addicted. It's just a way of blowing off steam. Remember that." But I'm wrong. I am addicted. I try to remember why I started cutting in the first place. I don't remember how the first cut came to be. I can't. I try so hard to think about why, but I just can't. It all happens so fast and in the spur of the moment I don't think. I stare down at my arm again and I feel a sudden wave of disgust fall over me. I hate myself.
"Cameron are you-" I forgot that there was a key right above the door to get into my bathroom. "Cameron." I stare up at him. I don't cry. I don't flinch. I don't show any emotion. I just stand there. "You promised me you'd stop." He whispers as he walks out of the room. And then he's gone, just like everyone else in my life. I hate myself for this. I just wish I was dead. And it's all because of those stupid little fucking urges to cut.