Frantically, I search my room for any utensil with a flat head. I grasp a pair of scissors and slide onto the floor where I grab the pencil sharpener, hold the scissors to the *****, and twirl them in my trembling hands. Over and over again I try to pry the razor free. Finally it comes loose, I clench it and take it to the bathroom to clean it. I anxiously walk back to my room running my finger over the blade to determine its worthiness. Worthiness. Worth. I flip it back and forth between my thumb and first finger, watching the silver catch the light and flicker. I slouch in my floor and slide a magazine under my leg in case any blood drips. My hands shake uncontrollably, my head spins and I feel sick to my stomach. Close to my knee cap or farther up? I can’t decide. I flick my lower thigh, then upper, lower and upper again. I decide lower for less pain. With all of my might I slide the shiny blade across my skin. My pure, innocent, previously scar absent skin. I grit my teeth with the excruciating pain, I look down, merely a scratch. The razor was too dull. Tears in my eyes, upset and frustrated I go again and again, it was like a frenzy. I was aiming for the same spot but occasionally missing. I see blood drawl. A huge weight is lifted from my chest
​Depression is a mood disorder I’ve been dealing with for about two years, now. Depression is like a shadow, it follows you everywhere, but it’s not always visible. Over time you learn your masks. One mask is the person you wish you were: happy, always laughing and smiling, encouraging, and convincing everyone that everything is perfect. Your other mask is your real self. The person you hide from everyone: despondent, lonely, beating yourself up, crying yourself to sleep and convincing yourself you’re incapacitated. It’s like a deep dark hole. You can escape if you want, but everywhere you look there’s no light, no end to the terror. I have no motivation to involve myself in anything except school because if I do make it out alive, I will use all of this to help other people. Fatigue, difficulty concentrating, or remember anything, feelings of emptiness and anxiousness, loss of interest in almost everything, feelings of hopelessness, restlessness, and excessive sleeping, are symptoms I handle on a daily basis.
​For years my mom has pushed me to be perfect; perfect skin, perfect body, perfect athlete, perfect student, perfect daughter, and for years I have worked to be this for her. The harder I try, the farther away I am from being what she wants and more distant from the person I truly am. Not to mention, all the others around me who take advantage of my caring nature. People after people stroll through my life and when they walk out they leave my dumbfounded, questioning what I did wrong and where I messed up. Where did I ***** up? What is so wrong with me that I’m either being molded into perfection or being abandoned? People always say “What doesn’t **** you makes you stronger,” and I highly disagree. What doesn’t **** you does **** you-slowly-like Aconite leaves. What doesn’t **** you makes you emotionally and mentally exhausted, drained, and corrupted.
​I truly do care for everyone and their feelings and I never want to hurt others or let anyone hurt them or feel any less or see themselves any less than what they are-beautiful, perfect people-but I have taught myself to feel little to no emotion for others. I am numb inside and out. It’s like I do not exist. I am a ghost, floating through this life, being used, abused, and left for dead. Maybe this is what has led me to hurting myself. Everything piles up and you can only take so much. He might be the only reason why I didn’t lose my mind any sooner. He kept me sane and happy. But when he left I was numb of emotions again, in every place. Every place but one was numb. The one place that was not numb was the place he touched me the most. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally. He touched me in the deepest depths of my heart and the darkest most disturbed places in my head. He left all of his fingerprints in my mind so every morning I dust off my mind and find them. They linger there from the dreams of the night before, where his love haunted me. The pain spreads from my heart through my veins to my bones. I’m weak and hopeless. Maybe that’s why I hurt myself. I want to feel the ways he hurt me over and over again and imagine him sitting beside me. He would kiss my legs and put my head on his chest while I cry and pull on his shirt and tell him to never leave me again. Maybe, I look for a way to mask the pain that lurks on the inside of me. It scratches at my heart, beats on the inside of my rib cages and causes hot tears to sting and run down my cheeks. I look for a way to mask the inside pain. I want to see the scars-which hide on the inside-surface. I want-I need-help. I’m not okay, mentally, emotionally, physically. I am not right. My mind is messed up. Depression is tearing me apart piece by piece. It ***** the life right out, leaving me lifeless, curled up in a ball, my mind blank and my body scarred inside out. I’m losing others over all of my psychological problems. I’m mentally corrupted. I see and hear things that are not real, that do not really happen. They scare me, and haunt me. All of the voices are unfamiliar except one, and that is his. I hear his voice whispering my name in my ear. I lay in bed and I imagine him lying next to me. I feel empty and lonely. I miss his voice, the way he would say “good morning,” and “I love you,” but my very favorite word to hear was my own name. “Jordyn,” rolls off his tongue and sends chills down my spine and a smile across my cheeks. Bringing him into my life for 7 months was the best and worst decision I’ve ever made.