Red and blue lights illuminated my room

I curled myself up into a tiny ball underneath my blankets

I stare at my phone as it rings for the third time in the past two minutes

I can't bring myself to hear the words I know are going to be said

Finally, I fet the courage to answer and I hear your mom trying to catch her breath, choking on her words through the tears

My own tears blocked my vision; I could barely walk into my paren't room and ask them to drive me to meet your mother at the hospital.

I couldn't believe this was happening; I stood in the hospital doorway.

I couldn't bring myself to walk-in, the world turned into slow motion and as soon as I brought myself to walk through the door everything smelled like a doctor's office and it wasn't until then I realized that this was real life.

It was on this very night that you received two hundred and fifty-four stitches in your arm, your stomach pumped, and a psych evaluation.

After fifteen minutes, I was allowed to go into your room, I held your hand as you laid there unconscious from the surgery, your hands felt as cold as ice.

A week later you were admitted into Mercy to receive treatment.

You weren't allowed to have any visitors outside of the family because of how critical your condition was.

I was furious; those people didn't know anything about you.

I knew they were what was best for you and could properly provide you with the help you needed but I didn't want to believe they oculd give it to you.

I sat at school for three long, agonizing, weeks without my best friend, the kid who I have always considered to be my brotherm while he was stuck getting help from people who knew nothing about his problems.

Those people were never there at one in the morning when you would call me on the phone and cry.

Those people were never there to clean your cuts every night after you ripped away at more and more of your own skin thinking the pain you caused yourself could outweigh the pain brough on by others

Those people never ran down the street to your house to sit there with you and try to keep you from doing the inevitable

Those people were never there to fight for you at school when irls and boys would attack you both verbally and physically

Those people knew nothing about you, and I should have been the one to help you and stand by your side as you recovered

Three weeks later you came home.

I have never been so excited to see ayone than I was to see you that day when you walked out of the car in one piece

I continued to tend to your now stitched cuts as we goofed off and played videogames as if nothing ever happened.

The stitches no longer seemed to have only closed the holes in your arm but they seemed to have closed all of the holes from the pain you were feeling too.