The Reasons Why...

There are a thousand reasons why I do what I do... I do it because I can't handle the stress any longer, I do it because I bottle everything up and than when I do finally need to just let it all out, I cry, I cry so much it hurts to even breathe after and I feel like I am finally gone...Dead but I soon jolt back to reality and i am still alive, breathing but I still feel dead. So to find out if I am gone or not, I cut. People would think one cut would show that but no not for me, I have to just keep going to get to the point where I cant breathe, I cant move, I am cold and almost ready to let go, I am on the edge. I am two seconds away from death... and in that moment I know that each cut or burn is just practice so when I finally am ready to let it all go, I will have practiced to find the perfect way to end it fast. It will be painful but I always enjoyed pain, it makes things better. I cut to feel, I cut to hold in my anger, I cut to understand who I am, I cut because I dont know who I am, I cut to learn to trust, I cut to remember, I cut to smile, I cut because people constantly tell me that I am worthless, that i am fat, ugly, a whore, I cut to rid myself of my fears, I cut to rid myself of the spit that comes at me. I cut because the pressure to do everything perfectly is to much on my shoulders, I cut because I cant be perfect, I cut because my mother sees me slipping away from the good child I used to be, she sees me falling apart and she knows that she cant do anything to help. I cut because I disappoint everyone in my life including myself, I cut because I am not good enough. I cut to get rid of my demons. I cut because its the one thing I can control. I cut because it helps me. I cut because everyone tells me that i will never make it. I cut because the voices tell me to. I cut because there isnt anything else to do. I cut because one day those cuts will be proof that I surivived for so long but just couldnt hold on any longer, I cut because my family is starting to think that I am a just like my prison bound brothers. I cut because it hids the truth. I cut because no one wants to hear your problems, so my skin can deal with the pain. I cut because I dont know who I am. I cut because nothing else is ever enough. I cut becasue it all builds up inside me every word or action I wish i did when I had the chance, every time I got walked all over because I was to afraid to do anything back, it builds up so much that I could have done something and i wouldnt get messed with but no, so I cut. I cut I cut I cut and I cut some more, I sit there and watch the blood stream out, I watch the red river sliver down my leg, the crimson dying my skin for a moment, that brings me peace, that makes me know that I can fight just one more day. I live to see another day where blood is trailing down my body. Causing myself pain is my way of telling myself that if i can crave into my own skin than one day ill have the power to stand up for myself, before my body turns limp and lifeless. That day, I will write a note just one and it will give who ever finds my cold drained body directions and if they follow them, the truth will be told, i have planned my death over and over but I always knew that I would care about more than one person, so one letter wouldnt do, I wrote letters through out my entire life, since I could write, I wrote stories of a happy princess to decieve everyone, I wrote tragic death poems at age 6, the age i knew that I wouldnt survive longer than high school graduation. I cut the first time when I was 7, my parents were screaming, I couldnt handle it, I covered my ears but I couldnt block it out, I grabbed a pair of sissors and sliced my tummy, it blocked out all of the sound, I just sat there and watch as the blood dripped out of my tummy, so peaceful and beautiful, it was like magic... It was something I was going to do often because mom and dad always fought and I could never get rid of the sound until that day, it all went quiet and I could only hear the weaping I was letting out softly. That was the start... I thought that one day it would end. At age six, I had cutting sessions, I started out with just one slice every couple of weeks, than it went to once a week, than it was every few days and it wasnt just one cut any more it was numerous ones at once, it felt better and better with each added slice. The addiction began before I turned seven. And now I cant stop, I cut when things are good, i cut when things are bad, I cut when nothing is going on. I do it out of habit now, not because I need it but because I want that moment of silence, that moment were I go deaf for a second and the entire world is just shut out. It is freedom and I fly with the birds...it seems. I cut because for me its my only relief. I cut because no one understands and these days talking just hurts, to sit in a classroom and breathe hurts, every step, every motion, every word it all just hurts me inside, it is killing me slowly and I just want to be gone fast, without the acheing and dragged out delay. I want it to be time to take the box cutter hidden in my room to both my wrist, my thighs, down my legs... across my stomach than last clear across my throat. After swolling loads of pills. So if I dont bleed out fast enough for my liking at least I will be tripping balls... than the overdose will take my life with convulsing seizures and vomit pouring from the cut in my throat... It wont be a pretty sight but it will do the job and I will have been sure to hire a cleaning company to clean the mess up three days after, so my poor mother doesnt have to scrub away her only daughters blood... I might even do this outside, so its not a big mess... I cut now so that one day I will have the strenght to kill myself.