June 16th

On June 16th: I tried to kill myself.

“To whomever finds this note, and my body along with it,

I’m sorry. But when running a sterling silver blade across a body I no longer feel is my own won’t even bring me any feeling. Then I find it best to just stop, to stop trying, to stop living.”

That was the first paragraph or the last thing I thought would ever be written by Kathryn Kelly Woodcock.

So I took every single pill I had, made cuts across every bruise. It was morbid. The red mixed with the purple and yellow.

I cried, not because I was in pain, or because I was sad that it had come to this. No, I cried because that what you're supposed to do, you're supposed to cry.

Finally, I felt something.

A tear fell into a cut, and it stung. The salt stung, and the blood from what the tear hit, had washed away. After 11 days of just being numb I had felt pain. I was angry and depressed. For me that was enough. I knew I wasn't just a body without purpose or emotion.