Born of Frustration.

i didn't cut deep enough.

This is all I could think while my sister, her neighbor and her boyfriend were staring at me like a mental case. I sat and cried endless tears, eyes and face swollen and pink, crimson slices up and down my wrist & legs, that were begging to be ripped open, begging for all the pain and the life to drain out of me. But all I felt was a stinging pain all over my body and all I could think was

I didn't cut deep enough.

The thing is, and I know just as well as anyone, is that if I really wanted to do myself in, I would have done so. Completely and quickly without a phone call or a text to someone who I trusted to save me from myself. I would have written a note, explaining to my mother how it wasn't her fault, but that this pain was heavier than my willpower, but I love you, and I'm sorry. I would have set aside the important things for my sister to keep, and cleared way for the aftermath upon my emergency exit. But,

I didn't cut deep enough.

And I felt worse than when I woke up that morning. When I opened my eyes and thought: Fuck, I actually have to try to do this thing called living..AGAIN? When I made myself eggs for the 50th time and realized how empty the ritual became. Even when I sat on the couch, still in my bathrobe trying to find reasons to keep being productive, happy, faithful to work and to my cat and to...the many nights coming home to an empty apartment. When the heaviness in my chest began to build up, when the vortex in my heart began to spin, when I asked God or whoever made up this shit to prove to me there was something worthy and all that came to be was total silence and a giant black hole in front of my face, I started to cut away. I cut away at my flesh as if I were trying to release an evil that existed inside me, all the dirt and grime that stuck itself to my soul somehow and wouldn't let go until it grew like a fungus taking over my heart, my brain, my perspective.

I cut away at first fast, and then slow and then sometimes over in the same place I cut before, just to make sure.

But I didn't cut deep enough.

So I found myself in the middle of the room, with 3 people staring at me all recalling their own pain all of us unified in that familiar stink of depression, all of them staring at me because I broke down in the most dramatic, embarrassing, heavy and selfish way: I cut myself up like a human shredding machine, cut myself to release the sadness that existed inside me, cut myself up as a way to be heard, cut myself up to express the self hatred I didn't realize I had, cut myself up until the stinging was proof that I was still alive, still feeling, still hurting, still ALIVE..alive and at the pinnacle of my misery as I will ever be..

and I saw my sister's deep weeping face and the pain was enough to drive one insane, and my cuts were nothing but reminders of a life still yet to be lived, still left to sparkle & shine like scattered diamonds in the sun, so many faces yet to meet, so many things yet to discover, still yet to fall in love with myself and with someone else and all I could think was

thank whoever made up this shit because,

I didn't cut deep enough.