I awaken. Thank god I didn't die. And that my mom didn't catch me.

If she knew about me cutting again, she would have such a fit.

I probably would have to go to a therapist. More doctors, great.

I already hate the guilt I get knowing I am to blame for my mother's tears. And my brother getting teased at school.

They say he has a crazy sister.

Well, if they were in my place, they'd probably shatter too.

The white towel is stained with red. Blood red. My blood red.

It doesn't make me feel all better about it. But it does make me forget about it for a while. But then it comes back. And I have the memories and the cuts.

I'm not some kind of goth. I'm just sad. But don't cry for me. I'm not going to cry for you.

But I cry for me.