Prologue
I don't remember why I started. Just that at that moment in time, I hated everything about my life, and everyone in my life hated me. So I cut. I cut 3 times that day, clumsily, not very deeply, but I did. I remember that first feeling of adrenaline, at seeing the blood run over my wrist and down my hand, the odd numbness. It felt good, like the blood was running away, and taking my troubles along with it. So, when the blood stopped, and my troubles were still there, I cut again. And again.
Now, I don't even think about it. If I've had a bad day, I'll take out a razor. I could watch the blood run for hours, dying my sink, and the water red, taking the edge off the day. Ironic, that, taking the edge off with a blade. Ha.
