I am scaring myself.

Today, at church (which really seems to trigger me...) I wanted to cut myself somewhere other than my stomach, legs, and arms. I wanted something different. I'd been considering cutting my throat for awhile but I was a little afraid.

But when I held that razor to my throat, staring myself down in the mirror, something snapped. I burst into tears and carefully began making very shallow cuts along the sides of my throat where my hair would cover it. I cut at the back of my neck too. And finally, I moved to the front.

The entire time I thought how easy it would be to apply just a little more pressure. Just a little more, and I'd bleed out and die. It would be so easy. And at that moment, I really thought I was going to do it. I wondered if anyone would notice the crimson lines staining my throat and realized that no one would, and it just made the thought of killing myself that much easier.

Sometimes, when my parents get angry at me for my grades slipping a point, or being so sad I can't get myself out of bed, and they suddently act like they care about my wellbeing?! I just want to lift my shirt up, show them the countless scars and scream, "You care about my health but you don't even notice the bloodstained bandages in the trash, or how many of your razor blades are missing?" And I know they don't care. That's why I am the way I am. And that's just one of the things that led me to that bathroom in my church.

So there I am, in a church bathroom, staring at a mirror as I cut my throat and watch the crimson drip, drip, drip down, and knowing how easy it would be to just end it right then and there, because by the time someone realized I was missing, I would be dead. And my parents wouldn't even realize I was missing- no, it would be Savannah or Sister Hughes who realized I had been there for Sunday School but not Young Women's, and that as my friend- my only friend- and my youth leader, they had to find me. And by that point, even though the hospital was less than a minute away in a car, I'd be gone, gone, gone...

The feeling was so liberating.

It wasn't until I got blood on my nicest blouse that I realized what I was thinking and then I was so, so scared.

I'd never wanted to die before, but at that moment, locked in that bathroom, bleeding all over the white counters... I had. I really, really had wanted to take that razor to my throat and end it all.