Look, I'm not even sure what this is *trigger warning, also cursing*
Posted March 4th, 2013 by pluzzle
March 5th, 2013
Does anyone else hear voices? The ones that taunt you, the ones that try and push you over the edge. Not the ones telling you that you did well, that you're amazing. No. The ones that bring you down every minute of the day, the ones that try and melt you down until you're nothing. You're gone. You're dead. Because of that one, tiny, voice. It brings you down every minute of the day, when you eat, when you look in the mirror. When you begin to feel happy it tells you you’re a piece of shit.
It’s the thing that tells people to kill themselves. The thing that tells people to cut. Harm is caused by this one little voice.
Sometimes, the voice isn’t in your head. Sometimes, it’s a real person, a bully. Maybe it’s a friend, thinking that you know they’re joking. But you don’t know. What they said permanently hurts you, scars you, and they don’t even realise. I think the hardest part of having this happen to you is actually the fact that you spend time with them.
I know what it feels like, to be suicidal. In fact... I really still am. I came close, the other day. I was so close to swallowing those pills. To finding a bridge. To getting a gun. I don’t know what stopped me. I do know what brought me that far.
You’re alone. It’s night, you’re in bed. You cannot fall asleep. The cold Winter air bites at your neck, the only exposed part of your body. Then, a tiny little whisper abounds from your half-asleep mind.
You don’t want to give in. The voice isn’t even real. It’s a figment. Of your dark, swirled, crazy imagination.
Do it. You know where the blades are. You’ll feel better.
You start to cry. It’s been 2 weeks since you last relapsed. But then again, it does feel good...
That’s right. It does. Now do it.
You finally reach over to the table and grab the box. It’s rather small. But that’s all it needs to be. You fiddle with your dimmer on the light. It’s on, but rather dark. You open it and grab the sharpest razor you can find. It drags across your skin slowly, but still making blood bubble up and drip down your wrist.
Good. Feel better?
Yes. Yes I do.
That’s what it’s like. It’s more like the first or second cut. When you get addicted, sometimes you don’t even need the voice to tell you what to do. You just do it. Stopping is the hardest part. But then, again, how would I know. I haven’t stopped.
The one thing you should do is reach out, get help. And don’t be a bitch. You never know who is on the edge of life. Greet everyone, give a smile, a hug, anything. Just please, don’t be an idiot. I know many people who have nearly pushed me over the edge. At such a young age.
DON'T ASK OKAY HM
See more stories by john nestle (clay)