The urge, the feeling to hurt myself is back. I was in the shower a while ago, glanced at my wrists, touched it, and suddenly it back. I look in the mirror and there she was. My other half. She was smiling at me, and said “Don’t you miss me?”. My heart throbs, wanting her to come, to cross over. But then I know it very well that I would be better if she’s not around. I was trying to shut her down, but I can’t. I couldn’t do it. She is me after all. That sad depressed looking girl is me.
“But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn’t do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn’t in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get.”