Scars

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I pull out my knife and sit on my carpet, leaning against my bed.I I pull it up to my wrist, and make a small slit. I exhaled a heavy breath of relief. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt this relaxed, this.... okay. I look down at my wrist to see a single drop of blood come from the end of the cut. I try to remember the first time I had done this, it was so long ago. Being so afraid to put the knife to my arm, but being curious to if it could really help how I felt. Once I started, I didn't want to stop. It was like being on a drug. Your up so high that you never want to come down. You feel like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. My thoughts are interruped by a voice from downstairs. I here a small yell from my mother to come and eat. She didn't even know how I felt about everything, probably didn't care either. I hide my knife in my dresser where no one would find it and grabbed a sweatshirt from my closet, to hid the scars that show how I really feel.





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redheadblaze said...
Jun. 3, 2010 at 5:36 pm
I uderstand this article- I used to cut myself. I remember feeling high, like nothing mattered. This story is really good. I hope people who read this can learn from it, and not judge people that does or used to cut themselves.
 
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