Please help me.
I'm the reason my families falling apart. They don't say it, but I can see the disappointed looks in their eyes every time I'm around.
I hear them argue day after day, minute after minute, through the walls of our broken home. I know my mother says she cares, but her eyes deceive her. My father doesn't even acknowledge my existence anymore. When ever he sees me crying in the corner, he stares, scoffs, and walks away. They all hate me. My whole family.
Even my fucking god damn cat. Laugh, I am too, but it's true.
I'm the reason they hate each other.
I'm also the reason that she won't love me.
And the reason that all of my friends are gone.
So I loved another girl. What was so wrong in that? But they didn't care. They though I was disgusting and horrible. So did she. She told me she hated me and never wanted to see me again.
The scars slowly fade out to white, but there's just one. One too deep. One that will never heal. I know because it's still big and red after 3 years. One day I just lost it. I thought that maybe if I punished myself enough, they'd care again. So now when I roll up my sleeves, a large red gash will fall upon your sights, and you'll see how much it hurts.
It happened again. Another episode. I cry for hours and hours. But then I think of the cold, sharp blade and everything is calm. Time slows. And I can breathe again. It's like I'm numb and I'll never be complete without the blade.
I ache for it. I need it. I shake and I tremble before I finally give into the voice. I ran to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. I grab frantically for the blade, roll up my sleeve to see that red gash. I press the mental down and feel a cold painful release as the blood comes out in droplets, staining the grout between the tiles.
It'll never be over. I feel everyday. And I hate myself for it. I take the razor and write on my arm the name which started it all. Spencer.
Please help me.