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Bloody Tears
Copyright, Victoria
My life ended on Febuary 11, 1999 when my mother passed away. Most descibe death as a painful new beginning but I only thought of it as an end. An end to a perfect life and a beginning to one that I did not want. Where tomorrow always had a chance of rain and the sunrise only brought more pain and confusion.
It had a been a year and I was consistantly crying inside. In my mind the pain was just as great as the day I found out she was dead. The overbearing feeling of hate weighed me down. I was always scared. I was so confused, my mind was constently wondering off. I completly lost it when my father started dating this women named Karen. I hated her. I stared acting up, just little things. But my dad would flip out and get angry, that was my way of punishing him. Punishing him for that extra pain that cried me to sleep everynight. He was a great father and I guess if I told him how I felt I would of never gotten sick. I became mentally ill very slowly. I would make small cuts that wouldn't even bleed on my upper thighs. A basic skin irritation that would burn. But as they started seeing each other more those little cuts wouldn't do it for me anymore. I would cut myself whenever she came over. She would come over 3 to 4 times a week. After about a month passed the cuts got so deep that the blood would drip down my legs. One time I even carved F*** in my leg. the scar is still there. This way of releasing pain worked really well for me. It allowed me to turn emotional pain into physical pain. So I did it for other things besides my dad's dating.Any emotion that I did not like I would cut myself and everything would be okay. But eventually I couldn't feel any emotion. I would sit in this deranged state where I wouldn't cry would just get really dizzy and start shaking. I started therapy, but it didn't help. I hated it. Eventualy I started slitting my wrists and cutting my arms. I cut myself with knives, saws, exactoknives, glass, anything. I would rub layers of skin off with erasers. When the cuts started to heal I would just rip off the scabs. I snorted my Prozac and tried pot and cigarettes. I started to hear things. There was this little girl and this little boy and they would talk to each other. I couldn't understand what they where saying. One day the little girl just started screaming and she wouldn't stop. I slit my wrists, she stopped screaming. I tried to commit suicide over the summer, by swallowing pills. I ended up throwing them up after I realized what I had done. I'm suicidal, but I don't think I could ever bring myself to do it. Part of it is I'm just as scared to live as I am to die. The other part is I want to die to be with my grandmother and my mother. But being with them will take me away from everyone else I love on earth. My love in God keeps me alive and strong. I love god more than life itself. I would do anything for him. I end in saying this anyone who who self mutilates, hurting yourself is not the answer. It will only slove promblems for a short time and in the long run it just makes them worse. Don't hurt yourself to the point of death their is always someone who cares, God. God loves you and no one can take that away.