I always knew that one day I would die, but I never would have thought, when I was younger, that I would try to bring it early. I remember sitting in the bathroom, dragging the knife across my wrist and watched as the crimson crystals came pouring out. I had always done this since I was thirteen and I always prayed for the courage to press harder. That prayer couldn't have come sooner enough. I had cut too deep and the blood was just pouring out. I lost part of my sight as I started to lose too much and I screamed as the crimson liquid poured down my arm, over my clothes and on the floor.
One minute I was in peace, harmony that I lost feeling in my body and no longer felt the pain of having to face tomorrow. Then I felt being lifted, flashing blue lights streaming through the house and as soon as I couldn't see the lights, I knew I was dead. That was a nice thought. Being dead, no longer having to face anyone anymore.
That is the lie. I wasn't dead, I had gotten saved and I hated the thought but when I opened my eyes, that was when I silently thanked the person who had saved me. One reason to live was lying in the eyes of the person above me, the one who had saved me. The doctor who helped me, which I thought I didn't need. His name? That I was soon to find out. But for the mean time, my name? Alexandria Swan.