I slid the blade between my scarred skin and the stitches holding the flesh together, snapping the thin piece of wire.

My fragile self.... it’s beyond saving now... I have no space on my body for slashes now. The benzo’s are kicking in and I feel my anxiety slip... The pain is unbearable, my visions clouded by my own self hate. I’ve forgotten what happiness feels like, I’ve forgotten how innocence feels.... I wish I was stronger, I’m incapable of fixing myself now, if only I wasn’t such a coward. I could take that blade to my throat and cut deep enough for the oxygen to stop flowing to my brain. But who would find me? My nine year old sister? My fucked up mother? No, I can’t

My girlfriend cares about me, screams at me every time she sees more blood leaking on my bedsheets. She lies to me though “I love you so much, please stop doing this to yourself” but I know how she feels... she fucking hates me and knows I’m ruining her life as much as mine. I can see it in her eyes, how weak and worthless she knows I am... she only stays with me because she wouldn’t be able to handle the guilt of going to my funeral. This inescapable guilt haunts me like a fucking poltergeist.