So when I was around 17 years old, I was quite the insecure little guy (still am, just not as bad). I always hated how I looked, thought I looked weird, that everyone was always staring at me, never satisfied with my appearance. I was in and out of school, really only attending classes if any friends were in it, art class, etc… So I remember one time I got my hair cut and I thought it just looked awful and too short (I had my bangs covering my eyebrows because I really fucked up plucking them and they looked awful), I was unaware and unable to see any long term prospect of myself, and I reacted very badly (people with body dysmorphic disorder can relate to how it can distort your perception of yourself and feel like your life is over). I was at school until about 11 AM, and told my girlfriend at the time that I wasn’t feeling good and that I had to go home, she noticed how strangely I was acting but I didn’t want to tell her what was up because I was embarrassed.
So being underage at the time and an alcoholic, I called up my guy to bootleg some alcohol for me, and luckily for me he was available and I got a 26 oz bottle of Jack Daniels. Now what follows after is one of my most depressing memories. I remember going into this little wooded, forest area that me and my friends used to chill, get drunk at, or smoke weed in, but this time I was alone. I went up into our little secluded stairwell, threw on my iPod (was listening to some Arch Enemy at the time I think, love that fucking band), and just starting binge drinking. Progressively getting drunker in the presence of just myself and my tunes, I ended up passing out and just sleeping for a couple hours outside. I woke up feeling pretty fucked up and still drunk so I walked home (my house was only about a 20 minute walk). I checked my cell phone and noticed that my girlfriend had called a few times, but I didn’t answer back. We had a close relationship so me dodging her like that was sure to cause some suspicion. So feeling ashamed for ignoring her and still being under the influence, I grab my knife, climb into my bed, and throw on the TV. Tears start to drop from my eyes as my flesh tears open vertically on my arms and I pray that my breathing just stop. What seems like a lifetime passes by, but in reality only a few hours of me just blankly staring at the TV, bleeding, thinking… I eventually fall asleep. The wounds aren’t too deep but enough to make a bloody mess in my bed, to which the next day I wash my sheets and nobody ever knows what happened. Maybe it was the booze that day that intensified my depressive episode, or maybe it was just me having enough to do with the superficial bullshit that this world presents, who knows. Just a little weird story from my strange life I thought I’d share with you all.