I See Red
Copyright, Cutting Girl
I have been cutting for three years now. Ever since I was eleven, I guess. I don’t know what it is about this self destruction, but I can’t stop. It’s like a drug. I seriously need it, but when my mom found out, shit just went seriously bad. I don’t even think she can look at me the same way, without thinking about the time she saw my arm. It was nothing but scars on my arm, some that I had did the same day. I promised her I would stop cutting, but I guess I sort of lied. I havn’t laid a scar on my arm, but I have cut my hip side a lot lately. I have overdosed a couple of times. I gave myself bruises on my arm. I guess I’m not better, even though my mom wants to belive it so much. I can’t be happy to save my own life. I hate school, sometimes I just want to bring a gun there and shoot up everybody, including myself.
I guess school is one reason I’m like this. All the kids have something to say about me. I can’t stand that they think that they’re all that are something. They think they know how it feels to be me. That I am just another black person with a problem. But they don’t know shit. They don’t know how it feels to have your dad so drunk that he takes it out on you. I mean I know names and other shit like that aren’t supposed to hurt you, but when my dad talks about me or calls me a piece of shit and other things am I supposed to be unaffected? And my momma, I love her, but she just lets my drunk daddy walk all over her. I can’t stand that. And then there is everything in this dumb ass world. Sometimes I talk to myself or Death, and all the kids think I’m crazy, and sometimes I think so too…
I can’t go to sleep without crying. I can’t even smile without breaking down. Sometimes I just want to hang myself in school. I hanged myself twice, but as you can see I am still alive and breathing. I can’t do this anymore, act as though everything is okay when it’s not. I don’t think I can survive another second. I don’t think so at all.