I was 12 years old when this happened for the first time. I remember walking slowly to the nearest store, with the very little money that my dad had given me a couple days ago. I was very nervous. It took me a couple of minutes to ask the women in the store for a pack of razor blades. Long story short.. I ended up in the hospital.
I don't remember a lot about that first time, just that I was going through on of the most devastating, emotionally difficult period of my life and I needed to end the pain. My very first suicide attempt.
I've learned a lot from that experience. Mostly from the recovery. Doctors, pills and more doctors.
After that I went a couple months without cutting.. or without thinking about it. I really hate pills so I stopped taking them. When I tourned 13 I started cutting again. Not with the intention of taking my life this time. I needed to feel free. I needed the pain to go away. I cut myself regularly as a form of liberation. It's an outlet for the pain. Everything that is inside my head, all the feelings and thoughts that run around my mind dissapear. When I feel the blades cutting my arms and hips everything dissapears. I know exactly what I am doing. I know it's wrong. But it the only way I've found to keep me alive.
The only way I can describe how I feel is claustrophobia.. inside my head. I have bipolar dissorder. Every day is a battle. There are moments when everything is stronger than me. In those moments suicide feels like the only viable option. When I no longer care if things will get better. Life has become a constant battle.
I want to stop. I really do. I don't want to fight this battle anymore.
