"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."
I hated myself, I hated everything I was, I hated how I was acting, I hated the way I looked and the way I sliced my wrist open with one easy manouevre. I hated how I thought I was strong but actually I was weak. Bleeding, I came to the conclusion that everything that's gone wrong in my life was all my fault, that the reason the walls that I had built up around myself were crumbling down was because I wasn't strong enough to hold them up anymore. I was never strong enough. With a gasp, I dropped the blade, the clattering sound echoing around the bare bathroom I had locked myself in. Carefully, I stood to look at myself in the mirror. Black hair sticking up in all directions, my nose slightly crooked, something that I'd just so happened to inherit from my Father as I could see through only photographs, my lips were pale and chapped and my skin looked like it hadn't seen the sun for years.
"Fucking hell," I repeated to myself several times, at first quieter and then louder as I took in the damage I had done to my wrists and forearms. That was definitely going to scar, funny that it didn't feel as if any pain was being done.
"I want to die," I groaned as I collapsed on the tiled floor.