A Cut to Break The Vain.

My last rubber band snaps, and the bucket of ice is empty. Too lazy to get more of either object, I reach for the next closest thing: my knife. I start to slit myself again, and the trickle of blood reminds me of all the insecurites and pains of living life, and that I had yet to read a note from Cameron, one of my closest friends. She's one of the few people that I've told about my dark secret, and she was the first to insist that I needed help. I don't want help. I don't need help. If I die in the hands of my own razor, than so be it. The world is too bleak for me, and each day feels like dead that continues to build up on my young, tired teenage soul.1

I've managed to keep her at bay, agreeing to some two week deal. I'm suppoed to be completely honest and tell her when I cute, blahblahblah. If it get's out of control, the number is tacked onto her fridge, and I'll pretty much be screwed over. I can imagine it. The kids in school will avooid me, adults will question me and my family, and doctors will be shoving uneeded prescriptions and therapist appointments non stop. So of course I'm lying.
And I really don't plan too. It hurts me, that she's living her happy-go-lucky life thinking that I'm fine, that this was just a little bluff to get attention, when I'm really all alone in a dark corner piercing through my skin under my own will. Is it wrong that instead of screaming out in agony and anguish I laugh at the sight of my own pain? 2

"I know." It read. Two words. She knew. I put the knife down and began to cry. The tears inside of me bubbled out in pools Who was I trying to fool? She was my best friend, and I'd hurt her beyond words. Of course she knew that I was lying to her, and she'd probably already called the cops and everyone on me. If my parents ever found out about what I was doing to myself, they'd never forgive themselves. And they'd be right, because there were most of the problem.3

I guess it all started when I broke up with Jason. He was nothing special, just too shy and too nice for me. It didn't hurt when I broke it off. But it hurt him alright. Do feelings resonate from one person to another? Because as soon as he was done crying and got himself another girl, I was yelling at myself for no reason and staring at the new couple every chance I got.4

Cameron and I were making plans for High School. But then one night, my dad stumbles in, drunk, totally out of it. Must've been a bad day at work. He and mom begin to fight. I'm sent to my room but I listen it. Flurries of profanity are shouted, mostly insane gibberish. But there are other things. Things about how my father had to give up his dream for me and my mother. Things like how my mother gave up all her pretty days dancing in the club at home breast feeding me. Next thing you know, they're filing for a divorce. But it's called off and they claim they're trying to work things out. But I know it's just an excuse so they can fight and yell more. Apparently they've still got some unfinished business, and I happen to be part of it. 5

So I started to cut. Nothing serious at first, just enough to make me bleed. But now I'm finding myself awakening more often to caked blood all over my arm and dizziness. It's a habit for me, I can't deal with things any other way. I wish Cameron would understand that, but she doesn't. Trying not to think about it, I fall asleep, only to relive my horror of a life over again the next day.6

Months pass, and Cameron is over trying to get me to talk to a professional. She's just there to talk to now, and I'm half glad. It makes me happier that my parents won't find out, but her face is less joyful each day. I guess it's what happens when you watch your best friend try to kill herself and enjoy it each day. I'm sorry that I'm bringing all these problems to her, and I'm really thankful that's she's still here. She's stronger than I thought, but it's not enough to keep me from getting worse. There's still no meaning to my life at all. The days are bleak, and my nights are full of black outs and pain. "It's not your battle." Cameron tells me. But it is. I wish she would see it. See it the way I see it. I'm not addicted at all. I'm just in pain. I can stop when the pain goes away, I really can.7

And then I realize I am addicted. Right now, there is only one escape. Death. I pick up the knife, dull at the edges, and pull out a sharpening blade. After ten successful swipes, I plunge it to my heart and let the blood ooze out. A scream of agony envelops within me but is not released. Nobody but one heard it. And that one was Cameron. She burst into the room, shrieking and in tears. After scooping me up in her arms she said only one word. "Why?"8


I couldn't answer that question. At that moment, I realized that Cameron was right all along. It wasn't my battle. It was my parents'. But now it's too late. As the darkness came in and grasped me from my friend's reach, I closed my eyes for the last time, and my thoughts echoed over and over. It's too late.