Deep into my head. Twice in one night. I don't think anything is really wrong. I've just got into my head again. A funk. Mood swings. Thinking... Which is never good, for me, atleast. I think about if I was to pursue this whole writing career, I would continue to keep a journal like this, when I have these moments. I think that'd help me keep some sanity.
Earlier in the shower, I thought of a suicidal scenario. I'm not sure the reasoning behind it, but it simply popped into my head. Not as if I wanted to do it, but simply a thought, really... I thought, no... I saw the idea... I pictured it. The image in my mind and all the consequences of the action. Seeing myself cut my wrists, arms, thighs, stomach, face...everywhere. Running the water, filling the tub. Lying in the warm bath. The mirrors fogged by the steam of the previous shower. And dying. I imagined it would sting, but eventually numb. I imagined losing feeling. My vision becoming fuzzy. And everything going black. I thought about the door being slammed in by my boyfriend, Phil. Him franticly dialing 9-1-1. (And I even thought how, in a moment like that, a touchscreen phone wouldn't be as effective as a regular house phone.) Me, lying in his arms, while he sits on the bathroom floor. Both of us covered in blood. Poor Devin, horrified. His second phone call would be to my mother to tell her what happened, or his parents to come get Devin. Whatever the order, they would be done. I could feel his guilt, though, I don't understand why. Maybe because it happened with him around. His tears. And the hospital room. Hooked up to IVs and machines. I imagined my hands grasping the hospital blanket. Then my eyes opening and seeing Phil to my right. My parents to my left. And still, in that moment, I pictured my father's face stern and disappointed. My mother crying. I survived. And I don't know why.
A scenario meant to rid the world of me, and even in a hypothetical situation, I still lived.