The 25th Hour

I'm at home, alone. The heating was off before and my fingers are freezing. I can't type well...I'm supposed to be doing my politics essay, but I'll have some time off, methinks.

Feeling horribly depressed. And cold.

I got drunk last night-not by a lot, but I felt sleepy and silly. I took the knife from the kitchen cabinet - the sharp jagged one, with the black plastic handle. It's inexplicably shiny, and I was excited. This knife, you see, I almost cut with four years ago. I hated using it for cooking since, but last night I felt as if I had to finish what I'd started. It was mine. I hid it in the waistband of my knickers, which dug a little into my thigh as I walked upstairs, but it did not cut. In my room, I was choosing my music. I had kissed Dad goodnight and his music was on, my bro was in his room not bothering me. I chose Lene Marlin eventually and got listening. I even wrote a little prelude in my paper diary, I was that pretentious and excited last night.

Then it got to the last song. I was crying, shaking and oh god, so nervous. I thought there would be blood everywhere. I hoped I would gape. I thought the pain would take me somewhere new, so when it came to the doctor's appointment, there'd be a real problem to fix - they'd spend all their time mopping me up, no questions asked. So then I got out my wrists, and dashed them. Nothing. Not a pop up of blood, just white scratch marks, stinging and a feeling of defeatism. I tried again - kept cutting the same place again and again for a verse of Lene's voice. No blood. Not a drop. The thirst I had acquired was choking me so I used SG instead. This morning, I managed to make my skin softer using Baby johnson cream and sliced a bit of my thigh. Then I sterilised it and I've been wanting to cut all day. Should I post this? Lidded eyes and all, I feel so stupid. And unfocussed. My fingers are still freezing.

EDIT: 2nd December

I think I'm gonna have to go onto drugs if all I want to do is curl up and bleed to death. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill myself (although my brain is getting used to the idea) but in my mind I'm just not living anymore and no one seems to care because people just aren't there when I call them, and I'm hardly eating and my eyes just focus and I just want to cry all the time. 'S not good.