dilemma3

They were talking about events from the party, excluding one in particular of course. Everything was fine until Matt walked up to me and asked to go for a walk with him so we could talk. We walked away a few feet from Rachelle and cory, then he kissed me. Ughh. and said he was sorry. I didn't know how I should have reacted to that.
       Then, in a sweet but fake voice he said, "You didn't tell Rachelle anything did you?"
       "No I didn't, I told her we just got into a fight and we're splitting up, that's all.."
       He looked into my eyes to be sure I was telling him the truth and said "Good, you better not say anything more!" He gave me a hard pressed kiss on the cheek.. my whole body just shuttered at the touch of him.
       I pushed him away saying, "now if you'll excuse me, I am going back over to my friends, they're actually good people..." I spoke ina sarcastic and sweet tone as I forcefully smiled at him. I walked back over to Rachelle and Cory as if everything was fine and dealt with.. yah right!
       I went to my classes that morning, then, at lunch, told Rachelle I wasn't feeling very well because of a hangover and headed home. It was Friday, so I had the whole weekend to relax and get refreshed for Monday morning.
      I still felt so disgusted and sick from the whole ordeal I had with Matt. On my way home, I started questioning suicide and how it would make all my little problems dissapear. I don't know what even started me thinking on it... it just.. came to me. When I got home, I went to the kitchen, and without even thinking, I grabbed a big knife with a sharp serrated edge. I put it to my wrist, hesitated a moment, then dragged it across my fleashy pale skin, pressing down, making it bleed. It felt so good, there was no pain at all, it was somewhat... releaving. I must have done it twenty times till I finally stopped. I bandaged it up with a tensor bandage, cleaned up the small mess I made in the kitchen so there was no evidence of my half ass suicide attempt, and crawled into bed. I had a new sence of numbeness and life. I fell right asleep.
       The next day, I stayed in bed a lot. I didn't want to move, my mother just thought I was feeling sick and left me alone. It was the same on Sunday, except that on Sunday I got up to cut my other arm a few times, so I could get that feeling again. Kinda like an adrenalin rush that took me out of reality for a breif moment of time. I had never heard of anyone else doing this, and I was surprised, seeing how wonderful and fascinating it was.
       Monday morning I got up and went to school, in a long sleeve shirt of course. It was a hot day, but I couldn't let anyone see the brutal mess I made on my forearms. No-one even questioned it.
       As school went on, I cut myself more and more, till I was doing it everyday. I used it to relieve all the little stresses that came my way on a day-to-day basis. I was addicted to it. I would go in the bathrooms and cut during class, between classes, after school, during the night - whenever the notion came on. I stopped going to parties and almost completely shut out my social life, except for school and Rachelle. She still didn't know, anything, I hid it all. Everything just sat inside my mind and welled up inside my body like a frog in boiling water. Cutting was my best friend, and all I did was long for my blades.

       By spring break, it was starting to get hot again. Rachelle was starting to ask me about all the long sleeved shirts, but was way off on her theories as to why. One day, Rachelle and I were sitting out on the grass at lunch and talking. She asked me about fifteen minutes before the bell,
       "What really happened between you and Matt that night at the party? You've been acting strange ever since, I know break ups are hard, but they don't change someone that much".
        I looked into Rachelle's big and caring brown eyes and broke down in tears, telling her everything, including my addiction to cutting. I showed her my arms and asked her to promise not to tell a soul. She said she would keep quiet so long as I wasn't going to end up dead, And that I had to get help somewhere, anywhere.
       One day, I was sitting in English class, trying to write a good essay (seeing my grades had slipped so much over the months), when I unconciously pulled up one of my sleeves, revealing the slashes and bandages. I was in the middle of writing my good copy when my English teacher, Mr.White, came and knelt beside my desk. He whispered to me, asking if he could see me after classes that day. I agreed with him, thinking it was about my slipping grades.
       After classes that day, I went up to my English room, walked in feeling afraid I was going to get a huge lecture or something when Mr. White told me to sit down and went back to what he was working on. I just sat there for a while looking around the room, wondering what this was all about.