The Night I Hated Myself.

Its been nearly a year since I saw my own blood. I had rid myself the temptation or even the thought of pulling that knife from my desk drawer and giving myself a reason to cry. It had also been a year since I felt the control of the combination of Xanax, Motrin, Tylenol, and sleeping pills in my bloodstream. In that time, I thought I'd never cross paths with it again. But its true what they say. Never say never.

After a week long blow to the ego and the slow alienation I endured, I crashed out on the bed. This whole week I felt like an idiot. I was like a square trying to fit myself into a circle... a circle of people I'd known for years, but never really knew. I watched them laughing, I heard them talking, I felt every brushing of their fingers to one another. But none looked my way. The only person I could ever run to, gone. Left me in the cold, mid-December frost. I had so much time on my hands, yet no one to hold them.

There, on my bed I stayed... engulfed in the dark. I had a headache the size of Texas and my heart felt like it was being crushed. I felt it drop to my stomach. I felt it nearly pop out of my chest. It felt like it was about to explode. It couldn't take anymore beatings. It was too frail, too weak... much like the person it fought hard to keep live.

After losing the war with my good, angelic side, I got up off the bed. I turned on the lamp on my desk and opened the drawer. I slumped over... looking, searching. I pulled it out of its case and headed for the bathroom. I put the cover of the toilet down and sat down with my feet in the tub. My better conscious was still there as I hesitated to do the job. My reckless side got the best of me. I pulled my knees towards my chest. And there I found myself... with the glistening knife in my hand. I still argued with myself if this was what I wanted to do. I knew it was wrong and I knew that my friends would be so disappointed in me if they ever found out. But who was going to tell them?

I stretched my legs out over the tub. I leaned my body in, the knife clutched tightly in my hand. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the stinging pain I'd soon feel. I reached over to the bone sticking out on my ankle and started slicing-- right ankle, then the left. The crimson liquid soon covered my ankles. I took my legs in after seeing what I had done. "God forgive me for doing what I just did," I said to myself. "I don't think I can ever love myself."

I stood up, opened the cupboard and grabbed qutips and the rubbing alcohol. I rushed to my room. Luckily, I was home alone. My dad and brother ran off somewhere, but I knew they'd be back soon. So, I rushed. I sat down and pulled my feet up on my desk. I took a qutip and dipped it in the alcohol. I cleaned off every bit of red off my ankles. The alcohol burned my flesh like crazy-- it was an all too familiar feeling. I stepped outside and grabbed some bandages. I sat back down and placed my feet on the table as I did before.

I gently placed the bandages over every incission. "Wear pajama pants," I said to myself. I changed into my pajamas and went to bed. I couldn't sleep and the anger I held it was getting stronger, my heart still pounding to explode at any minute. I leaned my arm over my desk and turned on my lamp. I opened the other drawer and looked through worthless nothings to find a small, pink bag of pills I'd kept. I found it under a few pieces of paper seconds after I started looking. I opened the bag and emptied it. Inside were 2 pieces of sleeping pills, 2 pieces of Motrin, and some Tylenol. It wasn't enough for me. I went out into the kitchen and rumaged through the transparent orange pill canisters for my parents' medication.

I read through every label, looking for something to help me. That's when I came across it. The one thing I was so sure would help me. I held it in my hand as I read the label. Across the orange surface it read Xanax: for anxiety; may cause drowsiness. I poured 13 pieces into the palm of my hand, grabbed a glass of water, and rushed back into my room. I took the pills I had in the pink bag and poured in on my hand with the Xanax. I took in all 20some pills in three glups. I went back into bed and grabbed my cellphone. Out of the many people I knew in this world, I knew only a handful really cared. They had the right to know what I just did. They were worried. I could tell from the panic in Kevin's texts and from the panic in Christine and Kat's voice.

Soon after, I peacefully slipped into unconsciousness... only to somehow wake up in the morning with just the biggest headache I ever had.