Stranger Sitting in the Park

I see you sitting there alone. You are so alone and sad. I wish I could walk right over to you and tell you how much I hate you. How I hate what you did to me, how you couldn’t just mess up your own life but how you had to pull me down with you.

I want  to tell you that you were selfish and didn’t think of how your actions would affect me. I want to tell you how I hate the way I look because I look just like you. How everyday the mirror shows me your face. The same hateful eyes stare back at me. I want to tell you all of those things but I don’t. I choose not to say a word.

I choose to leave you alone because I no longer am mad at you, I don’t hate you anymore. There is nothing in my heart for you. All that is left is just pity. I feel sorry for you, simply because you made all the wrong choices in life.

Bathroom Artist

Depression

This is what depression feels like everyday.

Why Cut? (Journal Entry)

I have read several books on people who cut themselves and every single one of them can’t seem to find the answer to that one question. Why Cut? Why choose to take a blade against your skin? Out of all the possible things you could choose to do to yourself why choose this?

They all have given a shot on trying to explain it, including myself. I honestly don’t know why I chose cutting as my outlet. I don’t know why that thought entered my mind at that moment; I don’t even know where I even heard of people doing that to themselves.

What I can tell you is that for some people (the ones from the books I’ve read) it just seemed to happen one day. Susanna Kaysen explained that she one day became a “wrist banger” and others like Callie just came home after losing a sporting event and just cut herself. That idea came from nowhere. She wasn’t even thinking. She was just acting upon certain feelings. As for Caroline Kettlewell she stated, “the idea and urge to cut seemed to arise from my very skin itself.” No one can seem to explain why or how that thought came about.

For most people it just seems to dissipate after a while. Dissolve almost; it leaves just as mysteriously as it came. In my case it no longer worked, it’s as simple as that. Cutting no longer removed the hurt. It stopped making me feel better.

I feel as if I am left with nothing, that I have no other choice. What is there left to do when cutting no longer works? You would think that something as drastic as cutting ones flesh would be enough but, surprisingly it was not. What is worse than taking a razor blade and opening  your own flesh and allowing your blood to run free while getting satisfaction out of that. Who can possibly think of something worse.

A Familiar Place (Journal Entry)

You just fall into this place without any warning. The black wave has just taken you into this place and now that you have surfaced you see that your environment has changed. There is no longer any light. That beautiful light that once shone upon your soul has vanished.

This place is very dark, cold and frigid. You can barely see your hand in front of your face. You try your hardest to see what is right in front of you but you can’t, you are not allowed. It has become difficult to breathe. You take every breath with caution. You fear that this breath may be your last so you take it in and hold it. You hold this breath safe inside yourself and pray that you will make it till the next.

You ask yourself how did you get here? What have you done to the world for it to take away something so precious as your happiness. You realized that the ending to this horror story is your choice. Either be the cause of your death or live a slow and painful life.

In this place you have very few choices and opportunities. Nothing good ever visits this place, only sorrow, pain and despair. There is only a matter of time till you accept the fact that you belong here. Once you accept that fact you then settle into something the outsiders like to call depression.

The outsiders are the people you wish you could be, the people who pass by you everyday not knowing your dying, and the people who stop in once in a blue moon to appear as caring people. But you know better than to accept their pity, simply because it makes you weak. You don’t exchange any words with these people because they simply don’t deserve it. They see you as a completely different type of species. They feel that you don’t belong here and you shouldn’t be anywhere near their happiness. Simply because you will poison it with your darkness.

Girl, Interrupted

My Skin Deep Problem

Cutting was my way of coping with my problems, it was my outlet. This allowed me to go through the day looking normal though it only lasted a while. When I first started I thought that it was one of the best things in the world and I was one of the few people who was allowed to experience this wonderful pleasure. It was like a breath of fresh air after being suffocated for such a long time. It was like the light at the end of the darkest tunnel. I thought that this was the answer to every problem. This was my way of fixing everything. I did it when I was sad, angry, scared, bored and even just for the plain old cut itself. This became my everything.

Life became just so unbearable that death was looking more and more beautiful to me. Cutting myself showed me that I had the power to create something. If I wanted to bleed I could make myself bleed and this gave me a sense of power. The scars left on my body were something special to me. It was a symbol that I could control something, I had complete control over something and I loved the idea of me having this power.

If I wanted to harm myself I could. I was physically able to harm myself but I never saw it as that. In my eyes I saw it as something so wonderful. I knew no one would ever agree with me so I knew that I must keep this part of myself a secret. I must tuck this so far away from anyone’s sight and understanding. I thought that everyone didn’t even deserve to know about something so great as this. Their simple minds would never understand how we could simply heal ourselves.

This would make me feel better. I saw those certain feelings as a poison that was running through my veins, making its way through my system and in order for me to survive it I had to cut it out of myself. Just like a person does after being bitten by a poisonous snake. One must open their skin and allow the infected blood to exit their body or they will die. I looked at it the same way, if I didn’t cut I simply was going to die.

Work of Art

In a moment of panic, sadness and pure rage we’re expected to create a masterpiece.