One Day

When I pick up that blade, it’s a ritual.

I have a lovely poster that is the center of my wall decorations right across from my bed. “Life is Beautiful”.

I turn away from it.

I sit cross-legged, my body facing my pillows and turn on my bedside lamp. My left arm has more cuts than the right since that’s the arm that faces the light. The cuts on that arm are also much deeper. I’m also right-handed, so I feel more comfortable cutting my left arm. 

I turn my large floor fan on high and the music up louder on my computer, so that my roommates won’t hear my tears. My sobs. 

I cut.

I sob.

I breathe.

I repeat.

There are so many used tissues on my bedside table. Some are wet with tears, others dried with blood.

My blood.

A lot of my blood. 

I cried myself to sleep last night. I cried when I woke up this morning.

I haven’t picked up the blade yet today. I used it a lot last night. So much that I got a new one since the old one wasn’t cutting as well anymore.

I’m just so tired right now.

I don’t want to go to any of my classes looking the way I do. My eyes red and puffy with dark circles underneath. 

But I just have to get through today.

I just have to.

One day.

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