Ready for the fall

I'm not going to kill myself over a guy. That's downright pathetic.

But what about two guys & really shit schoolwork & family bollocks?

God, I want to do it soo bad.

Help me. Somebody. Anybody?

I'm a huge waste of space. I just fuck everything up. The world would be soo much better without me. I dont do anything right anyway.

I hate feeling like this...that slow dull ache where nothing will feel better unless i press the silver blade into my fragile wrist again. And I know that as the sharp silver blade slices through my skin, there'll be no pain..just a dull feeling. A feeling i need. But as soon as the razor is retracted, the stinging sensation begins. It will make the emotional pain go away. Small droplets of blood will form at the crease and begin to pool up, slowly spilling out of my wrist.  I know it's wrong, that it's silly...but I don't want to stop. Not yet.

As each jewel forms,  I begins to feel relieved;happy almost. But not happy enough. So I'll take another swipe at my soft arm with the weapon of self destruction, and start to cut lines. I'll take a peek at the cuts and, at first, I'll admire the beauty. Wonder why so many people look down on me.....then I'll see myself for what i truly am. What I'm really doing to myself. Marks of mutilation. Cuts instead of cries for help. The word 'FAILURE' pops into my head because that's how i feel and now i have it wrote across my arm in this indelible ink and the colour red slowly seeps out. I should probably go to the bathroom, run it under the cold tap or something to keep it clean...but instead I just wrap my warm mouth around the raised lumps and suck..so i can once more have the blood I lost. It tastes icky..but being aneimic, I'll take whatever I can get. The stinging turns into a burning feeling as my saliva reaches the small gaps. The guilt will come to hit me again, like it always does after I've been bloodletting. Except this time its worse. A million times worse. How will i hide this from the people I love? 

Especially as its the season of summer; short sleeves and tank tops. 

Everyone is going to see me for all my worthlessness. Everyone will realise I'm a failure. But maybe thats what I want....maybe I want to come out as a cutter. Maybe its my cry for help. A final plea, as it was. Just maybe. Because I dont want to die. Do i? Surely, It's not about the suicide. Its about the release, the feeling of being able to take control over my own punishment. Normally, it's safe. Just shallow grazes upon my delicate arms. But I know that this time, it has gone wayyyy too far. What if the next time I go even further? will I even be able to stop myself next time? If there is a next time.

The worry and anticipation makes me want to do it again, but I know I musn't. It's downright dangerous. 

Time to clean myself up...so I can have that buzz of self control again. The anti-septic spray brushes gently on top of the cuts and slicks itself inside me. The stinging comes back..and it hurts more than before. But, I feel a bit better. just not good enough.

The thing is, It's never been about the publicity. (wrong word i know.)

Gah. I'm so fucked up. But I'm scared..because I think i'm actually ready. Ready to end it. Ready for the fall.

I dont want to go now.....but what if the anger, hatred and selfishness take over?

PLEASE HELP ME.