Tell it Like it is

∆ Cutting edge of razors 2

"Do you really think I am that petty?!" I whispered, my eyes full of tears.

"I just.... I don't know what to do" She said while pressing numbers on her phone.

"Hello?" The voice on the phone said. My mom walked into the kitchen. I heard her whispering about me cutting, my suicidal thoughts and things. Then she asked me how many times I cut myself. 17 times so far. I cut 3 or more times a day. Then The lady asks to speak with me. She tells me to go out and do things, like I am a dog and a short walk will help. Then she conveniences my mom to take me out to do stuff. We Go out and eat donuts. A donut was the first thing I had eaten in 4 days. I hated myself for it. Nothing got better. Nothing changed. A month later I was worse. I still cut 3 or more times a day but each time it was so many cuts I couldn't even count, they were everywhere. My favorite spots were my upper arms, upper thighs, stomach and sides. I had written suicide notes and had a date planned. February 20th. The day of my first therapist appointment I couldn't sleep. I had just finished skyping a friend before she left for school when the fog of depression rolled in. I sat at my desk slicing up my left leg. Then I watched the pearls of ruby dry. Suddenly my door opened! I flipped down the leg of my shorts and stared at my mom.

"Oh! Sorry! I forgot to knock. Don't forget you have therapy at four in the noon" She closed the door and left. Wide eyed, I cursed my self out for not locking the fucking door. Did she think I was masturbating sitting up when she walked in? Can girls do that? How embarrassing!

At 4 we rushed out the door, I had just woken up from a nap so I had on no make up and was dressed in grey leggings, A green hoodie, hot pink tang top, and grey moccasins. My hair is straightened though. Her name is Cassie (Name changed for story) She tried to get me to talk about everything in front of my mom. I closed up and sat in silence. Finally She asked my mom to leave. She asked me how much I cut and where. She asked me when I last cut and where. She asked me what antidepressant I am on and if I thought it was making me feel more depressed. it wasn't. I answered them all truthfully and calmly.

"Your mom said you have mentioned suicidal thoughts? How often is that happening?" Cassie questioned. My breath caught in my throat and my eyes started to water.

"Almost all the time." I felt like I swallowed a rock.

" Do you have a suicide date?"

"no." I lied.

"Do you think you will be safe until our next appointment?" Tears rolled down my face. I wanted to say yes. I wanted so badly to say yes and it be true.

" Don't know" I whispered hoarsely. I wasn't looking at her. I studied a Celtic knot poster on her wall, wiping away tears. I never thought I would be this person. I never knew things would get so bad. I didn't ever realize life could hurt so bad. I always thought I had control....No, I had nothing but a razor blade and a million scars. Without it I am nothing. Everyone always forgets me. No one ever listens to me. After everything people will ask me why I didn't tell them, why I suffered through this all alone. I will tell them I am just a private person but really I never thought anyone would care and I still don't think anyone does, not really. I am just an ugly, fat blob, covered in zits and scars.

"I want to recommend that you check into a hospital for the next couple of days. I would like to speak to your mom now. would you like to be here" She says giving me a very worried look. I shake my head no and stand up.

"Alright" She sighs, standing to follow me out. when we get to the waiting room I silently sit down while Cassie asks my mother to follow her back to her office. There are two teenage girls with thick eyeliner, clad in gloomy clothes siting in the waiting room, talking about flappy bird. Everyone is listening to them talk. Good I will be invisible, fretting over the talk in the car home or to the hospital. I am so tired of heart felt talks, of sharing how I feel, of feeling. I was suppose to be the kid that my mom never has to worry about. I am suppose to be the good egg, the golden child, the one they brag about to my grandparents. Why couldn't I do it? Why does everything feel so hard? I should be able to deal with everything the right way! I always have! I can't do anything right.

I can't even commit suicide right.

My mom walks through the waiting room, taps on my shoulder then leaves. I follow her to the elevator.

"I am proud of you for telling someone how you feel, I don't care that it wasn't me. I am just glad you told someone." My mom says finally.

"So what are we doing?" I reply, making no eye contact and showing zero emotion.

"We are going to check you into the hospital" My mom whispers.