Catalyst.

You're chronically depressed. Everything that's happening around you is too much for you to handle. A book lies open on your table. You can't bring yourself to read. You force yourself.

Your eyes begin to sting; you want to cry but there are none. After a long while, a tear glazes your eye. You let more of them follow.

The page you're writing your feelings on is ruined as tears smudge it. You look at it angrily. Can't anything ever go as I want it to? You sigh.

The page is ruined, and so is your mood. You think of destroying the page. You rip it off as furiously as you can. Your anger hasn't subsided. You want more. You crave more. The sudden adrenaline rush as you tore the page drives you.

Your eyes fall on a newspaper. The people who were famous for being famous did something with someone famous which made them even more famous. The ugliness in the world disgusts you. You look towards your table. You see a craft knife. Eyes glazed with tears and struck by a slowly dying heart, in a crazed frenzy, you pick it up.

I'm half mad.

No, scratch that.

I'm fully mad, you say to yourself. That's right.

You slice through multiple pages of the newspaper. It satisfies you, but leaves you craving for more. You do it again. And again. And again. And again and again and again till not even a square inch of the newspaper if left for you to slice through.

You throw the newspaper away. Cut finely, small pieces of it fall on you. As you pick the tiny pieces from yourself, you get an idea.

You slowly draw the craft knife on your arm. You draw blood. And that blood draws you.