Fifteen days

Fifteen days ago was the last time I cut.

Fifteen days ago was when I almost committed suicide.

Thirty days or so ago was when I told my two best friends I cut. Well I didn’t exactly tell them, they already thought I did because they saw my wrist. But one day in gym class, one of my best friends made a reference to another one of our friends who cuts and I added, “So do I.” She, of course, freaked out and repeatedly asked me why I did it and all the other normal questions someone who doesn’t understand would ask. For some reason though, I couldn’t stop laughing. I don’t know why because self harm isn’t funny. It’s painful, emotionally and physically. But I’ve always dealt with situations where I’m put on the spot as to where I’d biurst out laughing or burst out crying. And I was not going to cry while playing football in gym class. Right when gym ended, she immediately found my other best friend and announced that I’d admitted to cutting and that we were going to have a “meeting” about it. To make it even better, we had a group of people following us around trying to figure out what we were talking about. Ever since then, we haven’t really talked about it though. When it comes up in conversation, the first friend who found out always says “You know I don’t want you doing that,” but why do I care? I know a lot of people who wouldn’t want me to do that, but look at me, I’m still going.

Fifteen days later, I had had the worst possible day. I don’t even know why it was so bad. People were just being annoying and childish, and I couldn’t take the fact that my “best friends” constantly left me for other people. This day was built upon a terrible week, a terrible month, a terrible year, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. So I took out the knife and cut. I took out the pills and swallowed. I felt worse than the last time I took too many, I thought this was it.

But it wasn’t. I awoke the following morning after getting over twelve hours of sleep. I took it as a sign, maybe I was supposed to stay. So I tried my best, and managed to stay away from the knife and the pills for fifteen days.

Yesterday was Halloween. I was with a big group of “friends” as we walked around the neighborhood. Some of them were planning on smoking weed that night, and wanted my friend and I to join. We were both skeptical about it, we’ve been thinking about it, but know we weren’t so sure. My friend goes, “Com’n, let’s just do it.” And that’s when I knew I didn’t. I didn’t want to go smoke with them. I’ve been doing well for fifteen days and I wasn’t ready to ruin it. So when I told me friend, “I’ve already started on breaking a bad habit, I don’t want to create a new one,” she replied with “Well that’s good.” Well that’s good? That’s all she had to say to me? That’s also when I knew that nobody truly gives a shit. They may act like it at times, but they don’t. And I’m so glad I finally realized it before it was too late.

So once again today, I was left alone while my friends were off with their other friends. Whenever I tried to talk to them, they ignored me and talked to other people even though I knew they heard me. I ended up leaving early, and after about four hours of doing absolutely nothing, I had the urge. So I took a shower to try and rethink things since it’s helped other times. But it didn’t. So I got out the knife and cut my wrist eleven times. For the first time, the blood actually started to run down off my arm and drip. I wasn’t upset about it, nor was I happy or proud. I just felt numb.

Fifteen days ago was the last time I cut, until today.