Everyday it’s the same

Every morning I wake up and it’s the same: I’m still alive. Sometime I wake up and cry, other times I sit up and hold in the pain afraid my mother or brother will notice it. Some days I don’t get up. I skip school and lie in bed looking at the ceiling or sleeping, trying to escape reality. I hear as my mother walks into my room and asks worriedly if I think it’s normal to stay in bed all day and all I can do is nod. I don’t have the strength to get out of bed and face life. All I can do is cry and hold the utility knife close to my wrist knowing that if I cut deep enough I’ll end my pain. The voices inside my head argue if I should do it or not, but one of then stands out and talks loudest. She tells me to do it and laughs as she pushes the knife closer and closer to my veins. I sometimes feel I can’t keep her locked up inside and that one day she’ll finally succeed in killing me. All the while tears run down my face and onto the floor and outside my room everyone is oblivious to the pain I feel. They don’t believe someone so cold and emotionless, so quiet and seemingly happy could ever hold that much pain inside. She makes the utility knife press against my wrist and I can feel the cold metal on my skin as she makes a cut. The cut is too shallow and i’m able to lock her up before she can finish the job she started. I get to live another day. I should be happy, so why am I sad?