Prologue+to+the+Suicidal

Knife to wrist.

I deliberate on whether I should cut or slit. And yes, there is a difference. Cutting shows the world that you're in control of the pain. You get to decide whether you get hurt or not. And if you choose to get hurt, then congratulations - you've found a way to drown out the pain that you can't control.

But slitting?

Slitting isn't your decision. The pain, the pressure, the depression - it all piles up, you can't control it, and then you just - snap. But slitting has benefits that you can't get from cutting. Slitting makes the pain go away forever. Just one last twitch of the blade, and you fall into a soft, eternal sleep. You leave this world with a final "[Fudge] you all," and the pain remains forever behind you.

I turn my wrist over to one side, and then the other. I place the blade over my veins. The hand holding the blade begins to quiver. I try telling myself to stay strong, but I'm not quite sure what kind of strength I'm attempting to find within myself. Is it the strength to put the blade down?

Or the strength to end it all?

Tears well in my eyes. My vision blurs. I took the fall. I have to pay the price.

The blade penetrates the skin to the left side the veins of my left wrist. I drag it closer and closer until it's about to open up the first vein. Blood spills to the table. I stop the blade, hesitating to finish the process of slitting.

It's now or never.

It's just one last cut.

And then it'll all be over.