Chapter 8: Pain
*Logan's POV*
The mental pain is destroying me. My head is constantly aching. It's tearing me apart. I don't think I can do it anymore. It's killing me. I don't want to be here anymore, but I don't have the guts to actually drink bleach or overdose or something. I'm already lying to the guys about getting antidepressants, I'll take an aspirin instead- it should numb my pain- mainly these fucking headaches.
There must be another way. I've heard about self-harm. I was on this website, where people admit their secrets and lots are about using razor blades to cut their arms. I could try that. I have spare sharpeners I could use. But I don't have a screw driver? Will scissors work if not?
I bring the scissor blade to the tip of my left index finger and drag it across. Ouch, like a paper cut, but it feels strangely good, it's bleeding a little now. I need more blood.
Maybe the tip of the scissors will fit in the screw. Bingo, it fits, and time to twist. Seven turns is all it takes, seven turns is what stood between me and destroying my body with bright red scratches. I pick up the blade; it's shiny, with a hole in the middle. One edge is sharp, I push it down, as hard as I can into my skin, and drag across. It hurts like hell but it clears my head at the same time. It's so strange. I repeat it again and again. I then have over fifty cuts between my wrist and my elbow, on my left arm. The blood keeps flowing and it's strangely calming. I love it already. Guess who has a new hobby! The blood is starting to dry, my arm feels heavy. In ancient times they used to 'blood let' using a bleeding cup or leeches, they thought that you could have too much blood. I'm not self-harming, I'm bloodletting. A medical procedure, I always wanted to be a doctor. Letting out blood feels ridiculously good, seriously. I should do this every day.
I reach under my bed to find my first aid kit; I should bandage this mess, and hope that no one finds out. I can't let the blood stain my bed sheets. I can only do this when Kendall isn't in our room, or late at night when everyone is asleep or in the bathroom, that way no one can enter and find me covered in blood and tears.
It hurts like hell, especially when I move my arm or accidently bash it, but I like it. No scratch that, I love it. Pain to overcome pain. It makes sense; you should occupy your mind with physical pain rather than going insane from the mental pain.