I'm low, so very low. For the last few months I have been contemplating stepping in front of the bus rather than getting on it to go to work. I have attempted suicide before, but a friend interrupted me after I had only done one wrist. And now I'm thinking about doing it again, only this time I've learned to lock the door.

I sharpen my blade, close and lock the door. The first cut is shallow, more like a scratch, I press the blade against my arm again, putting more pressure on the knife, blood wells as the edge carves a deeper trench in my skin. Again and again I drag the knife through my skin, finally reaching the muscle beneath.

The pain is intoxicating, the more I cut the more I want to slice through myself, to bleed the mental pain away through the physical pain. And for the first time in a long while I'm vaguely happy, I can feel a smile play over my face, and I almost laugh, its strange how I can be so calm and rather peaceful when I'm a few millimeters away from slicing open a vein. One more cut and my life force will seep out and cover the floor, and I can lie back and relent to the black abyss.

I raise the knife for the final stroke but I find myself hesitating. I'm not sure why I don't strike, all the pain and torment would end, so why aren't I finishing it. Its only then that I hear a strange wheezing, groaning sound. It starts out very faint but quickly grows in volume, I stare at the corner of my room as a flashing light begins to appear.

My blade falls to the floor as I stare in wonder at the blue box that just appeared in my room out of thin air. Blood drips down my arm and pools on the carpet as, with a small creak, the door opens and a mans head appears. He looks at my arm, steps forward, quickly takes out a handkerchief from one of his pockets and carefully wraps it around the cut. I stand there stunned by this mans sudden appearance. He reaches up to touch my face, and I realise I have been looking at the strange box since he first arrived. His hand gently yet firmly pushes my chin up to look him in the eyes.

I gasp as my blue eyes met his multicolored colored ones, the color isn't the only thing that makes me almost choke on my breath. It was the fact that I didn't see a single shred of disappointment, or anger in his eyes over what I had done. What I did see made tears fall thick and fast down my face, my knees buckled and I fell forwards. The strange man caught me as I fell and I end up on his lap as he sat on the floor cradling me like a child as I cry my eyes out, screaming and gasping as he rocked me gently.

Because his eyes had held acceptance, and the same sadness I saw in my own eyes whenever I looked in a mirror. I knew, in that second, that he understood everything that I had been feeling, and he accepted it, because he had gone through something similar. He didn't judge me as I have seen others in my life do, he didn't try to stop me from crying, he just held me until I had let everything go.

And when I was finished and gotten myself back together, he asked me one question and I knew the answer as soon as he the question passed his lips.

The question was "Will you come with me?"

And the answer was unequivocally, "Yes"