I laid on my bed in the dark, anxiously waiting for a reply to the message I sent out to my friends. The blackness around me felt lonely and consuming as I pressed the home button on my iPod, typed in my passcode and was taken to my messages over and over again. The time centred on the top of my iPod mocked me. 4:33AM. Of course no one would reply to my cryptic message at this hour. I copy and pasted the same message to each of them - "im sorry"

4:35. I felt my anxiety building up in my chest. To distract myself, I decided to look though the photos on my camera roll. The first picture was a selfie I took with my friend, Patty. I looked at this picture for a long time. It was a pretty old photo. My hair was still a huge puffball on my head, but it was white instead of blue. I wore a plain grey shirt and Patty wore a black band shirt that read "BRAND NEW" on the top in white capital letters. Hiding his hair was a light grey beanie. I spent a while staring at his hair, debating on whether it was light brown or dirty blond. My tears blurred my vision, so I couldn't tell.

I looked through the rest of my pictures quickly. Familiar faces appeared on the screen- Luke, Dottie, Damon- people that meant a lot to me. I couldn't stand to see their faces for an extended amount of time. Seeing us smiling and laughing made me begin to regret what I was about to do. I locked my iPod and turned on the lamp on my nightstand. Sitting on my bed, I stared at my room. Clean and organised, unlike it is usually. I tidied up yesterday because I figured that whoever found me shouldn't have to deal with the additional clutter along with my bodily mess. I sighed and stood up. In my boxers still, I walked to the downstairs bathroom, where I finally got a good look at myself. I looked like shit.

My eyes were bloodshot. Puffy and swollen from crying. My nose was red and snotty and I just looked like an over-all mess. I decided to wash my face, engulfing it with cold water that eased and soothed my eyelids. After blowing my nose and staring at myself again, I dug around in the drawers until I found it. Its shiny metal surface gleaming in the fluorescent lighting, calling out for me to embrace it once again.

I clenched the razor in my hand as I shut off the lights and ventured back to my room. 4:57. My dimly lit room only highlighted my insecurities in my mirror. I took my boxers off so I could see every bit of me, nude and vulnerable, trembling in the mirror. "Pathetic." I whispered to myself. "You're pathetic." The razor in my hand was burning my skin as if it was on fire. I I clenched my fist and stared at it. I laughed weakly though my nose as it stared back at me. How could tiny bit of metal control my life this easy? A dinging interrupts my thoughts. Someone replied.

"Why? What's going on?" I read on my lock screen. Patty. My heart sank and felt like it was stabbed when I read his name. Seeing those words laid out on the screen made me feel more guilty about the events to come. I let the screen fade to black as I sat on my bed and let the razor glide into my skin slowly and with ease. The numb before the burn present, my iPod dinged again. "Jason. What's going on? Are you okay?" I pressed the lock button to black out my guilt as the burning took place and blood began to seep out of my thigh. Then, faster and with greater force, I dug into myself again. Suddenly, I began to viciously attack my thighs, not thinking. When they got bloodied up, I moved to my left wrist. Not three cuts in, the dinging interrupted again.

"Jason. Please. I'm worried about you." I unlocked my iPod and replied to the messages. "Relapse." Almost immediately, Patty messaged back, "No. Why?" I thought about that, as the texts came in sentence by sentence, quickly. "No more. Please. How bad are you still bleeding? I'm sorry I didn't reply sooner." Overwhelmed, I idly sent a response "i haven't cleaned up. its okay." I stared at the grey blinking ellipsis in a thought bubble, signifying that Patty was typing. "Jasonnnnn. Wash up, at least. I want to meet up so I can bandage it for you. Please." I sighed, almost in relief. Patty would be the friend to react this way. The time mocked me once again. 5:27. "we can't meet now. i'm fine, really. i'll clean up." I replied. "I want to make sure you're safe. Do you know how to clean up properly? Wash your hands before you disinfect and then wrap up. And don't wrap too tight." Patty sent. I didn't reply. I cleaned up carefully, my skin burning and the cuts puffy. I'd see the damage tomorrow, when the swelling went down. Turning the light off, the exhaustion hit me. My eyes heavy, the brightness of my iPod burning my eyes, I messaged Patty again. "i was so close to two months. i feel so stupid."

"Just try again. Relapse is a part of recovery. You can make a month. Two. You can make year. Two. Three. I know you can. You almost had two months you can get there again! Throw the razors out." I read the message over and over. I felt a rush of calm wash over me, erasing the former melancholy running through my veins. I felt warm inside. Not happy, but not as suicidal anymore. No more tears escaping and running down my cheeks. I closed my eyes, but opened them again when another message came. "Jason. I love you. Go to sleep. Come over when you wake up tomorrow."