I whip the silver switchblade out of its place. I look at my reflection in the glistening blade. My blotchy red face stands out the most as hot rivers of tears flow down my pale skin. This is the
only way to relive the pain. The never-ending sadness hasn't stopped in two years. Panic attacks have grown worse. They went from crying hysterically and getting migraines to sitting in silence
while my muscles tighten, my body breaks out in sweats, my migraines grow in pain to where I may pass out,I loose my ability to speak, and the fear and panic consume my body like a hungry beast.
The hallucination are so vivid and real now. It went from reading words wrong to hearing and seeing things that weren't there. I've heard my dogs bark when they were dead silent, seen a shadow
behind me when I was all by myself, and felt bugs on my skin when it was completely clean. The worst part is the loneliness and the emptiness I feel inside my dead heart. It eats away at my soul,
leaving me a hollow shell of what I once was. I didn't want to resort to this, but I feel like it's the only option I have left.
Slowly, I run the sharp blade along my left wrist vertically, far away from any major blood vessels. The pain surges through my body and I nearly drop the blade on my white bathroom floor, but I keep going. The area I ran the blade over begins to swell, making it easier to run the blade over the area. I swipe the blade up and down over the area until I start to see blood. I go faster and faster until the cut is deep and blood is flowing out of it like a mighty river. Strangely, it didn't hurt as bad as I thought it would. The pain felt somewhat filling after a while. The pain I felt when I cut my wrist a first, second, and third time didn't compare with the amount of pain I felt in my shattered heart. I stop once I finish my three cuts on the far right side of my left wrist. I lean my head back against the white wall and let the now crimson red blade fall to the floor. Even though this wasn't right, it helped fill a void.
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