"I'm not sticking around to watch you go down." Those were her last words to me. My love, my best friend, she was my only reason to hold onto. She left me. I knew I was spiraling, I knew the addiction was bad. Whiskey and cutting, blood and drinking, both crutches to cope with this life. It wasn't like I mixed the two together, or even let the affect my work life, they barely even affected my social life. I mean, sure people knew I drank, but not how much, and I didn't want them to know.
After she left, I guess I just lost it. I remember walking into my kitchen, I grabbed my bottle of Whiskey and a shot glass and walked into my bedroom. I don't know how many shots I took, just the burning in my throat and feeling light headed. I decided it wasn't enough, I hadn't forgotten the pain yet. So much pain, I hated thinking of it all.
I grabbed my blade and the peroxide. I took another shot. I took the blade to my arm, the first bit of pain was always the toughest. I'm a wuss, but it's the blood I need, it purifys me, seeing it flow down my arm, feeling the warmth of it, I don't know why. It's just what I always needed. Since I was 14, though the funny thing is people would only notice if I told them. I wanted some help, any help, never got it though. Where was I? Oh right, the first few cuts, shallow of course, only dropplets on my skin. My chest felt less constricted just seeing that, but I needed to breathe freely. I was stupid, I took another shot. I don't know how many shots I took, but I didn't need another. I started to cut deep now. That depth of a wound where at first it burns and you see how your skin is open, and then you watch the blood start to well up in it and then slowly flow out. It's almost calming, just watching, it's odd how slowly the body realizes there's a wound. I feel almost euphoric, so I cut again, deeper this time, quickly of course. It's odd how a slow cut is more likely to be shallow than a fast slash with the blade.
There's blood flowing down my arm now. I start to move to my forearm, it bleeds better than my bicep. I'm not sure why, but I'm not questioning the sick things in my head. I take another shot, everythings spinning now, the blood calls out to me, so warm and wet. I slice again and again and again. Things are so blurry. I strip and move into the tub, taking my bottles of Whiskey and Peroxide with me and my blade. So much blood, I start to run the bath. I don't know why, but I get back out of the tub, wrap a small towel around my arm and grab my laptop. I set it on the toilet seat and play some music. The tub is startig to fill up, so I turn it off. I giggle a bit, so much blood and booze, and here I am taking a bath and listening to music as if it's all fine. I really am messed up. On a whim I grab another small towel. I climb into the bath again and place the towels so they cover my personal bits. The bloody towel rests on my breasts, it's so warm, the blood is soothing, I feel like I'm floating. Just a bit more, I don't want this feeling to go away. I didn't bother with a glass, just drink straight out of the bottle. I feel so improper and boorish drinking straight from the bottle that I took another swig and giggled as I spilled some onto me. I put the bottle down and picked up my blade. I looked at my arms, the left one bright red and warm the right one almost completely scar free. I decided to hell with it. I kept the blade in my left hand and sliced into my right arm. The blood started to well up almost right away. I switched hands and cut into the left arm again.
I don't recall how many shots I took, or how many times I cut into myself, but I realized that may have gone a bit to far with this need to escape. I think you may need to pick your favorite shade of black, and please pick a nice dress to bury me in. Not my wedding dress, I don't want to buried with that horrid failure, perhaps one of my black dresses, with a small coat on as well. I would like for my scars not to show. I want to look like a doll in my casket. I have several pearls as well, I want to be buried weaing a pair of pearls. Can one wear black to their own funeral? I suppose so, just don't put me in something so crass as red.
You best prepare a speech, say something sweet about me, tell a funny anecdote about us, but please don't say that you loved me. No one should dare say they loved me. I wonder how many people can honestly say that they cared. I'm still breathing, but I won't be for long. There are so many people I loved, so many I cared about. None loved me as I needed to be loved. Not one person was there for me to call that night and ask for help. Not one person could I trust to just hold me and let me cry, to know when I needed the kiss, and when you were taking advatage of me.
Oh you know who you are, one who would hold me in my depression and then use me. I suppose I let myself get into that situation, but what happened to trust? I don't know who I was living for, or why I was at all, but I'm giving up the ghost. I'm tired of crying, I'm tired of cutting and drinking just to feel alive.
I can see the writing on the wall. I'm dieing, I'm dieing all alone. Maybe the fires of hell will melt the ice inside my heart. I've lived half a life for so long, don't come back for me. Who do you think you are? You shoved me away. You are all just running around leaving scars. Mine ae just visible as I slice into myself to just feel alive.
Why was I always the one holding someones hand for them? Why was I always the shoulder to cry on? I used to be captivated by people, now I'm laying in a hot tub with a Whiskey bottle and a blade laying next to me as my blood flows out. Am I dizzy from drunkenness or from the blood loss? I can't tell anymore. I reach over the tub for a third towel and roll it up. I prop my head up with it. If I pass out I don't want to drown.
It's funny. I slice myself up, I get uttely smashed, but I don't want to drown. What is wrong with me? I find the whole thing funny. I let out a laugh, it sounds almost hysterical, I can hear the need to cry on the end of it. I'm shaking. I'm scared. I'm going to die aren't I? I don't want to die. I want to bleed to just feel alive. I see the writing on the wall though. Death is near. I'm crying now, shaking and crying, my whole chest heaving with the effort to keep silent.
I'm so scared. I don't want to die. I want to live. I know I'm messed up and I've built walls around me so I won't be hurt by others anymore, but I'm afraid of death. That alone gets me to pull myself up slowly. I pull the drain in the tub. I grab the towels covering me and wrap my arms. I'm so dizzy. I pick up my laptop and set it on my sink. Everything is spinning and I want to throw up. I end up lifting up the toilet seat just in time to throw up in it. After my dinner is completely gone I pull myself up and flush it down. I see myself in the mirror.
It's horrifying, what I've become. My wet hair is clinging to me, the water dopplets on my skin are red, my whole body has a red hue from the blood. The towels wrapped around my arms are alreadying so close to being completely red. I look at the rest of me, thin, gaunt even. My body is covered in scars and you can see my rib cage and my hip bones. I hold back a sob. I grab my last towel and wrap my body with it. Everything starts to spin again with that movement. I rip the towels off my arms and throw them in the sink. I start running water over them as I grab my Peroxide bottle. I start just pouring it on my arms. Pink and bubbly, it both scares and fascinates me and the scent of it reaches my nose. I then wring out the towels and wrap my arms again, there's still so much blood. I know I cut to deep.
Maybe I have one last hope. I stumble back into my bedroom and see my phone on my desk. I pick it up and call a classmate from my martial arts class. He answers, his voice thick with sleep. "Hello?"
"Help. I need help." I'm pleading. I see how the blood is filling up the towels. I look in my drawers for underwear and sweatpants.
"Sorry, what?" He sounds as if he's starting to wake up. "Is something wrong?"
"Help." I'm crying and I'm trying to not start breaking out into great heaping sobs. "I need help." I'm hyperventilating now. I need to grab a shirt, if he helps me I can't let him see me in sweatpants and a towel. "I'm... I'm hurt bad."
"Where are you? I'll be there soon."
"My apartment. Building 7, apartment 106."
"I'll be there in less than ten minutes." I start sobbing now. I'm so scared and relieved, but still so scared. He will know what I've done to himself, everyone in class will know. People at work will know. I take off the towel around my body as I let the phone fall to the ground. I grab a loose short sleeve shirt and pull that on, there's blood already on my pants.
"C? C are you alright?" A low female voice comes from my phone. I pick it back up and put the towel from my body over my arms.
"K?"
"I'm with R, we're in the car. How bad are you hurt?"
"I..." I break into a sob, "I'm going to die, aren't I?"
"We're going to be there soon. Try to get to your living room, is the door unlocked?"
"No. I... I think I can still walk." I get up and the whole room starts to spin. "Maybe?" I try to open my door and am barely able to. I stumble into my hallway, the blood is on my shirt and my pants now. "There's so much blood."
"C, keep calm. You're going to be alright. Unlock your door, we're on our way. We'll be there soon. I promise."
"K, R, I'm so sorry." I'm sobbing now. My whole world is spinning as I fall to my knees in front of my door. I fumble with the lock, there's blood on the door now. "There's so much blood."
I can hear him curse next to her. He says something I can't hear, but she speaks to me again. "C, what happened?"
"I'm a horrible person. I don't deserve life, friends, or anything pleasant." I keep fumbling with the lock, there's blood on the carpet, my pants, my shirt, and the door. I finally manage to unlock it. "The doors unlocked now." I see lights in my window. It's so bright. I'm so dizzy. I slump against the wall.
The door is shoved open, I see R and K both standing there. K has his phone in her hand, they both look at me in horror. At least I think that's their expression Everything is very hazy and I think I'm dying. I lift up one of my arms, they feel so heavy right now. "Help." That single word seems to shock them into action. R rushes over and scoops me up like a rag doll. K rushes to open the car door. She looks around and tosses a blanket over the seat. She moves back and he places me in the car. She rushes into the drivers seat and gets in. He sits next to me. My blood is already on his shirt and pants. "I'm sorry." I'm crying, but they're weak, tired tears. I can barely see. He mumbles something, probably telling me not to apologize again. She takes a turn and my head flops on his shoulder. He is tense, from the blood or anger I can't tell. "I didn't..." I try to tell him how I didn't mean to kill myself, but it sort of fades off. "Too deep. Too many." I can't seem to get much out. My body feels so heavy and I can't even hold myself up. He has his arms around me and I know I'm bleeding on him, but I'm too tired to care right now.
I think we've gotten to the hospital, because she stops the car and the door opens and suddenly everything is spinning again and I realize he's carrying me. I feel like a small child, he's holding me so my head is still on his should and my arms are between our chests. I know the warm blood is flowing onto his clothing. I don't want him to be tainted with my blood. I try to push away but his grip tightens and I feel so heavy and weak. I hear voices. I don't even know if my eyes are open or not, but I'm in his arms anymore, someone's placed me in a bed. The towels are removed. I think I hear a gasp and someone talking quietly. Something cold and wet is moving down my arms. Something is placed on my right bicep and is squeezing. I feel something placed over my finger.
There's a bright light. It's painfully bright.
