I hate to look at myself in the mirror. It just ruins my day. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Kind of like how I hate myself. I loathe myself with a passion. Why? Because I am a filthy coward. I can't end my life. I cut myself just to watch myself bleed. It's beautiful. Sharp pain then release. I watch the blood trickle down, slowly at first then gaining momentum.

No one knows. I wouldn't dare tell anyone. I have no one to talk to. I'm not a very amiable person, despite my extensive vocabulary. Right now, I'm sitting in the car with my mother, trying to block her out. She pretends to understand, but really she can't. She never had herself as a role model.

"Helen," she says, "I'm not going to let you throw your life away, whether you like it or not!" Typical mom. She doesn't give a damn about how I feel, just about what happens to me later. She can't see that I need to be able to breathe. To have some space, to make my own mistakes, not learn from hers. I can't.

We just pulled up to the house, where her latest boyfriend is probably waiting, with all of his six-inch attitude.

As I get out of the car, he opens the door and comes to stand out on the porch. He looks down on me, a beer in hand. "What the fuck are you wearing?" I don't want to dignify that with an answer, but 16 years of living with my mother kick in.

"Go fuck yourself, asshole." I reply, nonchalantly and try and get by him. He grabs me by the wrist and yanks me hard towards him.

"What did you say to me, you worthless bitch?"

"Say that again to my face, scumbag."

"Worthless. Bitch."

Infuriated, I begin to struggle like a mad woman. I hit him with my free hand, and attempt to kick at him. He just chuckles in his idiot redneck way, holding me at a safe distance.

"Is that all you got?" he taunts, enjoying himself immensely.

"Richard?" my mother said trying to tame him.

At that moment, I bit his wrist, and kicked him in the shin. Finally able to dislodge myself from his iron grip, I break into a run, not wanting him to see my tears. I can't let him know that he's won.

I finally arrive at the small park near my house, consisting basically of a swing-set, a slide, a bench and an empty wading pool. I plop down on the bench, put my head in my hands, and burst into tears, ignoring all that's around me.

As I cry, I look down and see the four scars on my wrist, making me hate myself more. As the desire to cut myself rises, my tears slowly abate, then cease. I'm now filled with terrible resolution. I sit up, and wipe the tears away from my eyes.

Two teenagers are skateboarding in the drained kiddy pool pretending to ignore me, but I catch one of them looking in my direction, so I shrug at him. He picks up his skateboard, and heads towards me. I notice how hesitant he is, so I pat the bench next to me. After a few moments, he says "Are you alright?". I give him an unflinching coldhearted stare, and say "Does that answer your question?"

I get up. Enough of this bullshit, I need to find some privacy and a sharp object. Anything will do really, though I do favor my compass. He asks something resembling "where are you going?" But I pretend not to hear and keep walking. Soon I find myself back at my house, climbing the tree in the backyard, and entering my room through the window.

There, I sit down on the bed, trying to put off the sweet sensation of my bleeding flesh. Finally I can't take it anymore, the temptation it too strong. I get up and make sure the door is locked, and sure enough it is. I rummage through my bag, looking for my lighter and compass.

After much cursing, I finally find both, at the bottom of my bag, as usual. I take my item of small-scale destruction, and pass the flame on the tip, for disinfecting. I smile grimly to myself when I thought of how ironic it would be if I died of tetanus.

Done with the preparations, I slowly approach the compass to my skin, biting my lip in expectation. The end rests on my skin, barely touching, teasing me. I press down abruptly and drag the point two inches down my wrist as flashes of heat and cold erupt throughout my body.

I look at it and watch the blood swell, as my heart pounds with excitement. The first drop begins to form, if I'm not careful, I could lose this precious liquid. I rapidly approach the empty glass by the side of my bed, and watch as I let the blood drip into it.

All of my senses are on hyper-alert. I feel alive for the first time all day. I'm invigorated? Then the cut starts to close up. The blood flow stops. And I'm left alone and unfeeling once again.