My suicide story.

I don’t know, I’m bored. I slept all day. I have nothing to do. So I guess I’ll tell you my story. I’ve been cutting for 4 years now, it started out as something small. Just one cut, then two cuts, and then before I knew it I was cutting all the way up my arm and on my legs and thighs and my stomach. It’s now an addiction. Wether I’m feeling shitty or not. I need to cut. I want to cut. But I’ve tried suicide multiple times, I’ve chickened out a couple times, I’ve failed a couple times. But I woke up one day, and I felt it in my body that today was going to be shitty a’f. I tried to stay home from school, that just pissed my mom off. I ended up going cause she called the cops. But I got through the day, I got home. And my mom started bitching and bitching. It wouldn’t stop. And I had had enough. I shut my door, put on my depressing playlist, took out my set of blades, I picked the sharpest one, I sliced my wrists. Over. And over. Ignoring the pain. I soon noticed that blood was everywhere. I wasn’t sure if I had cut my vein or not. But it hurt like hell. I couldn’t get up, thank god I was sitting next to my dresser that had all my pills in it. I had a cup of water on the floor from the night before, and without any hesitation I poured the pills in my mouth. I’m not sure what happened after that. I woke up in an ambulance and was bandaged up. They talked to me but I wasn’t listening. The only thing I managed to hear was this “your a very lucky girl. If it had been five more minutes, we wouldn’t have been able to save you.” I started crying uncontrollably. They had me strapped down so I couldn’t wipe away my tears. I didn’t want to be alive still. I wanted to die. And I was blaming myself for the fact that it didn’t work, thoughts went through my head like “you should have cut deeper, you should have taken more pills, you should have cut up your arm. They can’t always stitch it up then” but I knew I couldn’t do anything. So I laid there looking out the window. They took me to a mental hospital for an emergency detention. I had to stay there for 72 hours at the most. That 72 hours turned into two weeks. To this day, I’m still highly suicidal. I suffer from depression, anxiety, and bulimia. My mom wouldn’t let them put me on any pills. I’m fighting this battle by myself. But the blade will always be my best friend.