Tonight’s the Night

The blood dripping from the gaping wound I made for myself. A birthday gift that actually lasted for a long time, the trauma, at the very least, would stay. The abundance of bloodstained tissues filled the trash can that's right beside my door. I turned around and looked at the clock. It's been around 2 hours since the initial incident, yet the blood's still vigorously flowing, although reduced slightly. I could feel my senses weakening; from my ever-blurry eyesight, my dull sense of touch and my quiet, hoarse voice when I opened my dry lips.

I let myself fell into the ground. The floor felt cold, but my skin felt even colder, especially because of the flow of blood surrounding my body. It was only supposed to be a usual Saturday evening, I previously thought. I focused my already-blurred vision to the ceiling; I felt cramped.

By the minute, my breathing began to collapse, and I found myself, couple of times, to loss my breath. I tried to control the tears from falling, and it was suprisingly easy. I'm this near to my grave, yet I'm scared. I couldn't let myself open my mouth, let out a loud shriek, to call out my parents in the other room. I'm better off dead, right? Again, my thoughts weren't on my side.

It would become a collection of single line scars that I could cover with a long-sleeves t-shirt for a period of 2 to 3 weeks, was my initial thought when I grab the cold, metal cutter blade.

One wrong step or an absence of a single scream, would result in my death at a young age of 15. Followed to a trip to hell, meeting God, opening my mouth and uttering a single string of words :

"I'm sorry, I'm not strong enough."

The next hour, I found myself in the emergency room, stabbed with a syringe filled with anesthesia around 20 times, my wounds stitched by a young doctor in his mid-20s. "What happened?" They would ask to me.

"I fell." A lie that even they would turn a blind eye to, especially my parents. "I'm sorry." I would continue afterwards, and then let myself feel the needle stitching my skin.

It wasn't what I envisioned to be the end of my life, and the scars of that moment stayed with me 2 years after. Both as a reminder and a reassurance. I could only blissfully ignore everything, until I got the courage to fight it again.