Prologue:
I have a problem. I know it's a problem but I can't stop. I just can't. I need to be perfect. Maybe if I'm perfect then the mental abuse will stop. Maybe the pain will stop. I know I am worthless and a freak. I get told by everyone, that I am worthless. So I need to be perfect, but it's so hard to be perfect when perfect becomes not good enough. Anything that's not an A can be a condemning grade for me if he see it. Anything can be condemning. He hates me for just breathing. And that hate comes out in many forms. Violent forms, that are normally directed at me
Nowhere is safe from all this pain. Pain is the only thing I feel and even that is beginning to numb. Everything is numb. I no longer am effected by the words, the punches, the kicks. At least that's what I tell myself. The truth is, it hurts. To scream so loud and no one hears you. So why bother even speaking when you're never heard? I've tried to get help before, but who would believe the odd kid that doesn't interact with anybody? They all turn away. So I sought out a different type of help.
When they turned me away, I turned to the blade. This pain is different from what I normally receive. In the numbing pain of the real world, the pain physical pain I bring upon myself os sweet relief. This is the one thing I can control. That power I hold over my very body with the single sharp blade permanently stained with my blood. Watching the blood trickle down my arms or thigh is mesmerizing.
What if I ended it all? The pain? The suffering? All it would take is a slice just a little too close to a vein. It wouldn't take that long to bleed out. No one would miss me. Who would miss the freak of a mute kid who sits in the back of the classroom? Who always wears long sleeves, even in the summer, to hide his collecting of scared old and new?
Hi. I'm Michael Clifford and I have a problem. I know that and it's going to be ok now. Problems don't exist where I'm going.