I cut myself for the first time today.

I had scratched myself before, barely broke the surface of my skin. But today, I really cut myself. My dad was screaming, my mom was crying. It was my fault, all my fault. I was sitting in the bathtub, my head was pounding and I couldn't escape. My body hurt so much but I wasn't in any physical pain. I didn't feel alive. I took my shaving razor and chucked it against the wall, watching the fractures fall to the ground. I took a broken part of the shiny blade and sliced the side of my thigh furiously. Once, twice, then three times. I stared at the gashes, and the weights strangling my chest suddenly released as blood started to trickle out of the wounds. I could breathe again.

The only grip I had on reality was the tears burning my eyes and the hot red blood sliding down my leg.