A dramatic take on life :3

9.6.25 

I looked at my wrists. A familiar red trickled down to my fingertips, kissing them.

One years, seven months, three days, sixteen hours, two minutes, four seconds. I held on that long.

"Why did you do it?" My friends asked, my family asked, strangers asked. 

But I have no answer. What was I even chasing then? Familiarity? Control? Attention? Maybe just the attention, or the fact that I wanted to prove to myself I could still feel something? 

But when the steel kissed my wrists, I didn't feel anything like I imagined I would've. It wasn't enough, just like before. It has never been enough. 

I told myself over and over again, as time passed, that I was healing. Recovering, getting and feeling better. But that wasn't true. Those green scissors haunted me all the time, and soon, that silver steel sharpener did too. Always in my head, like it was a virus that infected my brain just like on computers. 

"Stopping will make you stronger!" But it didn't. I just wanted everything to be over immediately; The hollowness, thoughts, memories, I yearned for peace. 

I can't imagine a future, forgot the past and suffer in the present. 

There's nothing to do in summer. A heat that feels endless. 

I don't study, but fear failure anyway. I don't exercise, but the hatred for my body gnaws at me every time I look at myself wearing tight clothes. 

But maybe I did cause all of this, making it look intentional when it wasn't. I don't reach for help, I don't try to fix what's broken. Just come on the internet to rant about my miserable life, knowing I could do something to make it better instead.

Outside of here, I am nobody. I only exist as something I loathe. No will to do anything, just here.