Don't hold strong opinions about things you don't understand.

My time has come, and so I'm gone. To a better place, far beyond. I
love you all as you can see. But it's better now, because I'm free.

Sometimes you need to run away just to see who will follow you.

It's hard to answer the question "what's wrong" when nothings right.

I'm tired of trying, sick of crying, I know I've been smiling, but inside
I'm dying.

Maybe one day it will be ok again. That's all I want. I don't care what it
takes. I just want to be ok again.

When I was younger crying always seemed to be the answer. Now that
I'm older crying seems to be the only option.

I guess there comes a point where you just have to stop trying because
it hurts to much to hold on anymore.

You say I'm always happy, and that I'm good at what I do, but what
you'll never realize is, I'm a damn good actress too.

Just because I'm smiling doesn't mean I'm happy.

Tired of living and scared of dying.

I don't necessarily want to be happy; I just want to stop feeling

miserable.

Don't fall into the trap of pretending everything's fine when you know it
isn't.

The hardest years in life are those between ten and seventy.

I'm just learning how to smile, and that's not easy to do.

Sometimes it hurts more to smile in front of everyone, then to cry all

alone.

I want to be remembered as the girl who always smiled the one who
could brighten up your day, even if she couldn't brighten her own.

Just when I thought my life was coming together, I realized it was just
starting to fall apart.
Stop the world I wanna get off.

I bleed for you that's why I cut those simple scars are just deep
thoughts.

You bleed just to know your alive.

Death is God's way of saying you're fired. Suicide is humans way of

saying you can't fire me, I quit.

I don't know what I want in life. I don't know what I want right now. All I
know is that I'm hurting so much inside that it's eating me, and one
day, there won't be any of me left.

Everything that ever caused a tear to trickle down my cheek, I run

away and hide from it. But now, everything is unwinding and finding its
way back towards me. And I don't know what to do. I just know that
pain I felt so long ago, it's hurting ten time more.

It's the loneliest feeling in the world - to find yourself standing up when
everyone else is sitting down. To have everybody look at you and say
"what's the matter with her?" I know what it feels like. Walking down
an empty street, listening to the sound of your own footsteps. Shutters
closed, blinds drawn, doors locked against you. And you aren't sure
whether you're walking toward something, or if you're just walking
away.

You start life with a clean slate. Then you begin to make your mark. You
face decisions, make choices. You keep moving forward. But sooner or
later there comes a time where you look back over where you have
been and wonder who you really are.

I don't know if I'm getting better or just used to the pain.

I know it seems like I'm this strong person who can get though
anything, but inside I'm fragile. I've had so many things thrown at me,
and each one has only made a crack. What I'm afraid of is shattering.

Maybe I am crazy but laughing makes the pain pass by.

I love sleep. My life has this tendency to fall apart when I'm awake.

I know what its like to want to die; how it hurts to smile; how you try to
fit in but you can't; how you hurt yourself on the outside; to try to kill
the thing that's in the inside.
Even the people who never frown eventually breakdown.

How can you understand me when I can't understand myself?

I hate what I have become to escape what I hated being.

It's like I realized that way down inside, I've always been lonely for
something. But I don't know what for. It's like everybody in the world
want's something. Only they never really know exactly what it is - they
just keep finding out what it's not. You know how, when you turn off the
TV or you come out of some concert, and everything just feels empty?
Like you thought that would be what you wanted, and then it wasn't?

You look at me and think, 'she's so happy' but there's so much behind
this little smile that you will never know.

Do you ever have those times you cry and you don't know why?

People are always telling me to smile, like smiling is going to just take
away all the hurt and pain. Well I've tried that I've tried hiding my
sorrows and covering the sadness in smiles and what I've learned is
that when it hurts this much inside your heart always has a way of
showing it no matter how many masks you wear.

Let no one think I gave in.

The pain is there to remind me that I'm still alive.

It seems to me that the harder I try the harder I fall.

Refuse to feel anything at all, refuse to slip, refuse to fall, can't be

weak, can't stand still, watch your back because no one else will.

There's no excuse for the need to take your own life away, everyone
passes through some rough obstacles if life, just face them as they
come along, there's always a way to overcome those obstacles, and
learn from your experiences.

If you can't solve it, it isn't a problem - it's reality. And sometimes
reality is the hardest thing to understand and the thing that takes the
longest to realize. But once it hits you in the face you'll never forget it.
It will always be there in your memories and sometimes that is the best
way to look at it.

It's funny the way you can get use to the tears and the pain.
What do you do when you become too scared, too scared to live, too
scared to die, too scared to love, too scared to even care?

You can't just hug me and say it's okay because right now... it doesn't
feel that way...

Sometimes the littlest thing in life changes something forever and

there will be times when you wish you can go back to how things used
to be but you just can't because things have changed so much.

I just wish I could roll back the clocks to when things were the same...
then we were all just a bunch of crazy teenagers looking for a wild
time. But now, thing aren't the same. Each of us have gone our
different ways. We change, people change, things just change, and we
aren't those crazy teenagers looking for a wild time anymore. We're
teenagers looking for a person to love and a person to hug when we're
in need.

Sometimes I think that if I wasn't so good at pretending to be, I'd be

better at actually being happy.

Her sadness did not have that. It dripped slowly into her life without
her noticing it, at least, not noticing it until it consumed her fully and
smothered her with darkness.

I quit, I give up, nothing's good enough for anybody else, it see... when
Im all alone it's best way to be. When I'm by myself nobody else can
say good-bye. Everything is temporary anyway.

Everybody's searching for a hero. People need someone to look up to. I

never found anyone who fulfilled my need... a lonely place to be, and
so I learned to depend on me.

Pain is your friend, it tells you when you're seriously injured, it keeps
you awake and angry but the best thing about it is it lets you know that
you're alive.

I have a tendency to hurt myself physically, when I'm hurting inside.

When your sure you've had enough of this life... don't let yourself go...
because everybody cries... everybody hurts sometimes... sometimes
everything is wrong.

Some of us are just trying to get through the day without falling apart.
Every night before I go to sleep I lie on my bed and stare up at my
blank walls. I try to imagine the future, but right now it's as blank as
those walls. All I can see is a past that I barely recognize any more.

I don't want the world to see me, because I don't think that they'd
understand.

Look at me. You may think you see who I really am, but you'll never
know me.

There's a smile on my face but I don't know why it's there... I put it on
to satisfy all the people that don't even care.

I'm often silent when I am screaming inside.

The deepest people are the ones who've been hurt the most.

Someone once asked me, 'Why do you always insist on taking the hard
road?' I replied, 'Why do you assume I see two roads?'

Wear a mask that grins and lies, it hides our cheeks and shades our
eyes. The debt we pay to human guile, with torn and broken hearts, we
smile.

Sometimes I feel like nobody has held me down and forced me to cry
or made me hug them, or seen to the inside of me. I just say 'oh I'm
fine' and walk away. Nobody's ever said to me 'no you're not'.

Do you ever get that feeling where you don't want to talk to anybody?
You don't want to smile and you don't want to fake being happy. But at
the same time you don't know exactly what's wrong either. There isn't
a way to explain it to someone who doesn't already understand. If you
could want anything in the world it would be to be alone. People have
stopped being comforting and being along never was. At least when
you're alone no one will constantly ask you what is wrong and there
isn't anyone who won't take 'I don't know' for an answer. You feel the
way you do just because. You hope the feeling will pass soon and that
you will be able to be yourself again, but until then all you can do is
wait.

Some people try to understand, but nobody can know what living like
this is like.

You never know when you wake up, if all will be the same, or if you'll be
back in your dark place, again to feel the pain.
No one can see the pain what we hide, they're happy for us to keep it
inside, our fear is our own; they don't want to know. Why should we
involve them; why should it show.

Our generation has had no Great war, no Great Depression. Our war is
spiritual. Our depression is our lives.

So drop the little razor, and pick up your life, forget all the bad things,
the pain and the strife.

I'm not my usual self being quiet and lonely isn't 'me' crying all night,
acting all day this isn't how it's supposed to be.

I'm hurting so bad inside I just wish you could see... I'm struggling to
be someone that isn't even close to me.

Beware the person who has nothing to lose.

In the end, music is your only friend.

When your going thru hell... it's best to just keep on going...

What's the point in screaming? No ones listening anyway.

I'm young and I'm hopeless... I'm lost and I know this... I'm going
nowhere fast... that's what they say... I'm troublesome, I've fallen... I'm
angry at my Father... it's me against this world and I don't care.

She's not the kind of girl who likes to tell the world about the way she
feels about herself.

Did it surprise you that I am not who you thought I was? Did it surprise
you to find that I don't exactly stand for what you thought I stood for all
along? Did it surprise you to find that I'm not exactly how I played
myself out to be? That the person you thought I was is actually nothing
to what I am.

Everyone sees who I appear to be but only a few know the real me, you
only see what I choose to show there's so much behind my smile you
just don't know.

I like having low self-esteem it makes me feel special.

Take it from someone who's fallen... it's a long way down.

They say you need to pray, if you want to go to heaven. But they don't
tell you what to say when your whole life has gone to hell.

The only thing standing between me and total happiness is reality.

The beautiful thing about music is when it hits you, you fell no pain.

True strength is holding it together when everyone else would

understand if you fall apart.

The only thing worse then being hated is being ignored. At least when
they hate you they treat you like you exist.

There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar

means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with.

Rock bottom is good solid ground, and a dead end street is just a place
to turn around.

She is the quietest kind of rebel.

She could shut out the whole world, including herself.

Our scars have the power to remind us that the past is real.

Nothing can stop me now because I don't care anymore.

In that one instance I hated everyone in my life, everyone and

everything, and me most of all.

She was like a flower that had been battered by a storm, but not quite
destroyed. Gradually, she began to strengthen and bloom again.

She was a girl who knew how to be happy even when she was sad and
that's important you know.

I'll fake all the smiles, if it stops all the questions.

Behind this innocent smile of mine, lay words left unsaid. Words of
longing, love, anger, and hate, all repeated inside my head.

I've been a loser all my life. I'm not about to change. If you don't like it,
there's a door. Nobody made you stay.

But its ironic because that's how I live my life. I smile on the outside,
and everyone thinks I'm doing fine but I'm always dieing inside, always
one step away from the edge you know? I can't be happy to be who I
am because I don't know who I am anymore.

Be patient and tough; some day this pain will be useful to you.

I just realized that were all a bunch of actresses and we've fooled
everyone into believing that we're all okay... I'm just waiting for the day
when I can convince myself of that.

I smile, I smile all the time, you're just not around to see it.

I just like playing games with people, I always hope there'll be

someone smart enough to see through me but you're all so stupid.

I'm so happy, cause today I found my friends, they're in my head.

I wouldn't be surprised if I was voted most likely to kill everyone at a

high school dance.

I'd rather hang out with the losers that would sit and smoke a cigarette
than the ones who wanted to throw a baseball.

All rock music is good as long as it has passion and feeling

If you die you're completely happy and your soul somewhere lives on.
I'm not afraid of dying. Total peace after death, becoming someone
else is the best hope I've got.

QUIET! I can't hear you & all the voices in my head at the same time!

If you hold back your feelings because you are afraid of getting hurt,
you end up hurting anyway.

Not all scars show. Not all wounds heal. Sometimes you can't always
see the pain someone feels.

When you quit fearing pain, when you learn to love the pain, you will
lose all fear of everything.

Just because some people don't cry, doesn't mean they're not
suffering.

I cut to prove to you that you are not the only one that can hurt me.

The sky isn't always blue. The sun doesn't always shine. So it's okay to
fall apart sometimes.
You do it to yourself... and that's why it really hurts.

I used to have many faults, not I have only two - everything I say and
everything I do...

I've come to the point where nothing matters anymore, and things I
used to care about aren't worth fighting for.

I am not what I ought to be, not what I want to be, but I am thankful
that I am better than I used to be...

Those who say sunshine brings happiness have never danced in the
rain.

I'm not afraid of the gun in my hand, I'm not afraid of dying, I'm just
afraid of the pain it will bring, and to see my best friends crying.

Are you running away from something you don't want? Or running
away from something you're afraid to want?

I wear my scars proudly. They represent the battles through which I

have gone, and I am proud because those battles I have won.

You have no idea what I can do.

The insane are sane and the sane are insane in a world of craziness.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the moment one area of

your life starts going okay, another part of it falls spectacularly to
pieces.

I believe in whatever gets you through the night. Night is the hardest
time to be alive. For me, anyway. It lasts so long, and four am knows all
my secrets. Four am is when my dreams die.

No matter what you do or say, there's nothing that you can do to make
people understand you.

Damaged people are dangerous, they know they know they can
survive.

People dislike alcoholics, but they still drink at parties. People sit in
non-smoking section in restaurants, but still enjoy the occasional
nicotine jolt. People have strong feelings against self-injurers, but they
also take all their emotions out on other people.
Such a pretty girl, happy in an ugly place. Watching all the pretty
people do lots of ugly things.

The apple fall far from the tree she's rotten and so beautiful I'd like to
keep her here with me and tell her that she's beautiful she takes the
pills to fall asleep and dreams that she's invisible tormented dreams
she stays awake recalls when she was capable...

Without pain, there would be no suffering, with out suffering we would

never learn from out mistakes. To make it right, pain and suffering is
the key to all windows, without it, there's no way of life.

If I would kill myself tonight, who would remember me tomorrow?

No more joy - No more sadness - No emotion - Only madness. I can't

see. I don't feel. I can't touch. I don't heal.

There's a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line.

Skin is beautiful, don't ruin it with scars just because your life isn't as
beautiful. For once life becomes beautiful to you again, your skin wont
be so beautiful anymore.

Life it seems, will fade away drifting further every day getting lost
within myself nothing matters no one else I have lost the will to live
simply nothing more to give.

I am sad but I'm laughing.

Everybody knows that something's wrong but nobody knows what's

going on.

We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven't you?

The question isn't 'who is going to let me'; it's 'who is going to stop
me'.

And sometimes I have really bad day... when, you know, I just want to
hide or scream or bleed or something...

Scar tissue has no character. It's not like skin. It doesn't show age or
illness or pallor or tan. It has no pores, no hair, no wrinkles. It's like a
slip cover. It shields and disguises what's beneath. That's why we grow
it; we have something to hide.
I only smile in the dark.

Every so often I want to dig my fingernails underneath my skin and

peel off the face everybody's so used to seeing me in. Every so often I
want people to know that I'm not as okay as they think I am.

It wasn't a suicide attempt, it was an escape from everything awful.

When we cut, we're in control - we make our own pain and we can stop
it whenever we want. Physical pain relieves mental anguish. For a brief
moment, the pain of cutting is the only thing in the cutter's mind, and
when that stops and the other comes back, it is weaker. Drugs do that
too, and sex, but not like cutting. Nothing is like cutting.

To be loved to madness - such was her great desire. Love was to her
the one cordial that could drive away the eating loneliness of her days.

These cuts are leaving creases. Trace the scars, to fit the pieces, to tell
your story, you don't need to say a word.

Who am I? I am who I say I am and tomorrow someone else entirely.

A pill to make you numb, a pill to you make you dumb, a pill to make
you anybody else, but all the drugs in this world won’t save her from
herself.

We're all quite mad here. Ha... ha ha ha ha ha! You may have noticed
that I'm not all there myself.

If you don't like the way I am, then don't come around me. If you don't
like the way that I talk, then don't listen. If you don't like the way I
dress, then don't look. But don't waste my time telling me about it. I
don't care.

Reality has exiled me; I am no longer bound by it's laws.

Sometimes you can cry until there is nothing left wet in you. You can
scream and curse to where your throat rebels and ruptures. You can
pray all you want to whatever god you think will listen. And still, it
makes no difference. It goes on, with no sign as to when it might
release you. And you know that if it ever did relent... it would not be
because it cared.

Sometimes I sit and watch the ink leak from my pen. It comforts me to
know something else bleeds the way I do.
It's an interesting feeling, really, to scroll through all the numbers in
your phone, and realize that there is no one who will understand.

My skin is burnt but it heals my heart, with growing pride I’ll wear my
scars, I am honored by you hate.

I guess for some people its always a little easier to appreciate the rainy
days instead of sunny days...

I've lived in this place and I know all the faces. Each one is different,
but they're always the same. They mean me no harm but its time that I
face it, they'll never allow me to change... But, I never dreamed home
would end up where I don't belong... I'm moving on.

Where ever I am I always find myself looking out the window wishing I
was somewhere else.

There's something about death that is comforting. The thought that

you could die tomorrow frees you to appreciate your life now

Without pain, there would be no suffering, without suffering we would

never learn from our mistakes. To make it right, pain and suffering is
the key to all windows, without it, there is no way of life.

Do you remember the days when you were a child and simply running
outside made you happy? What happened to them?

There's a girl in my mirror crying tonight and there's nothing I can tell
her to make her feel alright...

I can't stop crying... I don't understand, and it's not the loud, screaming
crying... it's just the tears continuously roll down my face, and I can't
do anything to stop them.

Someday I'll fly away.

I can't get my wrists to bleed, just don't know why suicide appeals to
me.

This isn't a perfect world. People do get hurt. You smile when you feel
like crying. You act like you're ok, when you're falling apart inside. And
you try to let go, you try to move on, because you know there's
nothing else you could do.

I have no clue why I do what I do. It feels good to have cold metal
press against my skin as my problems tear at my soul. The blood drips
softly and I cry silently. No one will ever understand me except for
other people like me.

Close your eyes, and imagine 5, 10, 15 years from now. You are with
your husband and maybe 2, 3 or so kids and your a very happy family,
and very self-full-filled and your life is perfect just the way you had
always dreamed and hoped, and then your little 5 year old child asks
you: "mommy, why do you have all those white scars on your arm?"
and then what will you say? I used to take a razor and pull it down real
slow and carefully and watch the blood drop out of my skin so that I
could see that I am still alive, or so I could feel real physical pain
instead of emotional pain. No you can't say that to your child. and even
if you do then your child will learn from you and do the same to
themselves when ever they are feeling down. you don't really want
that now do you.

What you think is what you are. what you peruse becomes your reality.

You ask why I say nothings wrong when really everything is. You should
know what wrong. Your my friends, your making bad decions and its
killing me to see you suffer like you are. You just never see how what
your doing effects me because you don’t care enough to look and see.

I cry then I cut, then I cry again, it never ends.

I was lost. There was nobody for me to talk to about all that you were
troubling me with. So I sat alone, with everything inside, and cried
myself to sleep.

when you talk about feelings, words were too stiff, they were this and
not that, they couldn't include all the meanings. In defining, they
always left something out.

The skin of a scar is stronger than the original, less aware of pain...

Self-injury is a sign of distress not madness. We should be

congratulated on having found a way of surviving.

When I cut myself, I feel so much better. All the little things that might
have been annoying me suddenly seem trivial because I'm
concentrating on the pain.

Scars are tattoos with better stories.

We are male and female. We are artists, athletes, students, and

business owners. We have depression, DID, PTSD, eating disorders,
borderline personalities, bipolar disorder, or maybe no diagnosis at all.
Some of us were abused, some were not. We are straight, bi, and gay.
We come from all walks of life and can be any age. We are every single
race or religion that you can possibly think of. Our common link is this:
We are in pain. We self-injure. And we are not freaks.

You see her sitting there and you think 'shes so sad' but its not that
shes sad, shes simply given up on pretending to be happy, shes tired
of getting up every morning and putting on her fake smile, telling
herself 'today will be better'. She doesnt want to be an inconvenience
or a bother anymore...she has stopped looking for the light switch in
the dark room she calls her life.

If you forget all else remember just this, there are people who love you
and want you happy... without you their life would be empty.

In reality, I'm slowly losing my mind. Underneath the guise of smile,

gradually I'm dying inside. Friends ask me how I feel and I lie
convincingly. Cause I don’t want to reveal the fact that I'm suffering. So
I wear my disguise till I go home at night and turn down all the lights
and then I break down and cry.

Everyone is asking me how I feel, how I am and truthly I feel numb. I

cant feel anything and honestly I like it.

Depression is such a strong emotion, its regret, fear, frustration,

isolation, a choice, and sometimes even a form of protection.

Loneliness is the human condition. No one is ever going to fill that

space.

Why don't you just sit down, close your eyes and invent your own
world? When you were little you did, even with your eyes open.

Sometimes it seems like we're all living in some kind of prison, and the
crime is how much we all hate ourselves. It's good to get really dressed
up once in a while and admit the truth - that when you look closely,
people are so strange and complicated that they're actually beautiful.
Possibly even me.

As long as you know everything is a lie then you can't hurt yourself.

Do you ever have one of those days where nothing really goes wrong
but you feel like you hate the world and the smallest thing that
happens can make you break down right there and cry?
Cutters are living proof that when the body is ravaged the soul cries
out and when the soul is trampled upon, the body bleeds.

I'm playing a game I can't win, I keep losing and losing, why do I keep
playing? To me it isn't about winning or losing, I'm just enjoying the
game.

The drastic steps I'm taking are just an act of desperation, no one's
gonna miss me so what the hell. I fought and lied I drank too much.
Hurt everyone I ever touched, just how much I hurt you is hard to tell.
It's not some kind of cry for help just good bye I wish you well because
I love you I'm gonna kill myself.

I won't leave a note for anyone to find tomorrow they will know what
I've done here tonight.

Do you ever lay in bed at night hoping you wake up in the emergency
room and hear the words "shes not going to make it?"

I certainly didn't tell anyone; I didn't advertise that I was doing this, but
I didn't necessarily also make sure no one could see that I was injured.
In fact, I felt proud of it; I felt good about it. It was like a battle scar: it
proved that I had been grievously wounded and survived. When I hid
my scars, I did so because I didn't want anyone to think I was a basket
case or a mental case and to look down on me or to pity me or to stop
hanging out with me - leave me because they couldn't. handle me...

You know when you cut yourself really badly, it doesn't hurt at all for
awhile you don't feel anything - death, our reaction to death is sort of
like that you don't feel anything at all and then later on you begin to
hurt.

Pull the shades - razor blades - you're so tragic. i hate you so but love
you more. i'm so elastic - the things you say - games you play - dirty
magic.

I did not, you see, want to kill myself. Not at that time, anyway. But I
wanted to know that if need be, if the desperation got so terribly bad, I
could inflict harm on my body. And I could. Knowing this gave me a
sense of peace and power, so I started cutting up my legs all the time.
Hiding the scars from my mother became a sport of its own. I collected
razor blades, I bought a Swiss Army knife, I became fascinated with
different kinds of sharp edges and the different cutting sensations they
produced. I tried out different shapes - squares, triangles, pentagons,
even an awkwardly carved heart, with a stab wound at its center,
wanting to see if it hurt the way a real broken heart could hurt. I was
amazed and pleased to find that it didn't.

First time I cut was just to feel the pain, Strange because I didn't feel a
thing.

It wasn't because I wanted to die, I just wanted the pain to finally stop.

I have to cut because it's the only way I can smile.

Let me give you some advice-- if you are gonna lie about something at
least make sure it's worth lying about.

I've always been the good girl. The girl whose parents that she would
grow up and actually become something. But I'm not like that
anymore. I never thought I'd drink or snort those pills but I guess I was
wrong. Now that I've done it I don't wanna stop. It's like cutting, once
you drag that blade across your skin you can't stop. You don't wanna
stop. I know you wanted a perfect teenage girl but in reality there isn't
one.

Those feelings that are the most painful are those ones that nobody
can explain no quote can describe... and no tears or smiles can make
them go away. They're the ones that hurt the deepest the ones that
last the longest and take forever to forget about .

Sometimes I feel like no one cares. Sometimes I feel like no one is

there. Sometimes I want to kill myself. Sometimes I think I need some
help. Sometimes I feel like I'm alone. Sometimes I'm in an empty zone.
Sometimes I feel like I'm not alive. Sometimes I wonder if I'm deprived.
Sometimes I think the world should end. Sometimes I think I have no
friends. Sometimes I want to make them see that sometimes I wish I
wasn't me...

I'm so broken. not half full, not half empty, not ever cracked. I'm just
broken. I can't exist anymore. I can barely function. there's nothing left
to me. and I don't care.

Cutting is a stepping stone for me. All my life I have been put through
so much emotional pain and ive let myself just sit and drown in it. I
cant physically or emotionally do it anymore. So I cut. It temporaily
takes my pain away until I am able to remove myself from all feeling. I
am detached from everything right now... I am numb.
Please don't blame yourself for any of the stupid shit that I choose to
do. None of this is your fault. I'm the one who makes these bad
decesions so im the one who pays the consequences.

It's not how tragically we suffer but how miracously we live.

Life and death are balanced on the edge of a razor.

I'm not guna give a fuck anymore... If you hurt me, I'm gonna hurt you.
That's how it's gonna be from now on...

How can you hide from what never goes away?

One morning you wake up afraid to live.

...it all becomes completely numbing, like so much pounding on a

frozen paralyzed limb that bruises but no longer feels.

But then I never had to worry about crash landing becuase I never took
off.

It was like sawdust, the unhappiness: it infitrated everything,

everything was a problem, everything made her cry - school,
homework, boyfriends, the future, the lack of future, the uncertainty of
the future, fear of future, fear in general - but it was so hard to say
exactly what the problem was in the first place

On top of feeling sad, I also felt guilty.

I went home at night and cried for hours because so many people in
my life expecting me to be a certain way was too much pressure, as if
I'd been held against a wall and interrogated for hours, asked
questions I couldn't quite answer any longer.

I don't care that I don't care, but I do care maybe a little bit about not
caring about not caring - but maybe I do feel sorry for all the nice
people whose efforts are wasted on a waste case like me.

The have no idea what a bottomless pit of misery I am.

I did not, you see, want to kill myself. Not at that time, anyway. But I
wanted to know that if need be, if the desperation got so terribly bad, I
could inflict harm on my body. And I could. Knowing this gave me a
sense of peace and power, so I started cutting up my legs all the time.
Hiding the scars from my mother became a sport of its own. I collected
razor blades, I bought a Swiss Army knife, I became fascinated with
different kinds of sharp edges and the different cutting sensations they
produced. I tried out different shapes - squares, triangles, pentagons,
even an awkwardly carved heart, with a stab wound at its center,
wanting to see if it hurt the way a real broken heart could hurt. I was
amazed and pleased to find that it didn't.

There were times when she thought she didn't need to do it anymore,
times when she thought she was done with it. Cutting made her feel
like she was... special, like she had something. She liked having the
ability to inflict pain whenever she wanted, and she liked that she
could stop it. Not that she really wanted to. When she thought she was
done, it made her empty, unsure if this was really living. She would ask
herself if this was happiness, and told herself that if it was, she hated
it. Cutting made her feel different then everyone else, but she also
knew that other people did it for the same reasons, that made her feel
that she was a part of something. Then there were times when the
tears from her eyes burned a path down her cheek, and her throat was
so tight she couldn't scream no matter how much she tried. Those
times she would find relief only by cutting up her skin and bleeding out
all the painful screams. The pain of living altogether flowed from one
simple cut. She didn't care where she cut, arms, legs, stomach, or
wrists. As long as she keeps cutting she can live to tomorrow.

You cry yourself to sleep at night I've heard your strangled sobs
piercing through the darkness. wishing I could help. You cut your self to
take control. I've seen mangled scars running up your arms as plentiful
as veins. Wishing I could help You starve your self to grasp what's left
I've seen you, thin and not even trying to live. Wishing I could help
through all these things I've seen you, wished I could take away the
pain. then you took it away your self. I wished I could've helped.

Unperfect. That's what you can call me. After all I am me, and don't fit
a certain category. I'm just a girl who lives life day by day and always
manages to put a smile on my face. Even if that day I'm a complete
mess.

What is depression really? Is there one concrete definition, or has the

meaning loosened as our generation has continued it's downhill
descent? To me, depression is simply my life. I'm not suicidal. I'm not a
cutter. I don't hate the world. I don't dress completely in black. I'm just
sad. I've been sad for what feels like my entire life, but that's not true. I
was happy once and I can vaguely remember what it felt like, but I
can't touch it. I can't get that happiness back, I don't know how. That's
what depression is to me, knowing what happiness is, but never being
able to touch it, to feel it.
One of the worst feelings in the world is loneliness. Sitting in the dark
by yourself in the wee hours of the night gently crying. Nobody knows
what's going on with you. How could anybody realize what's
happening? Everybody you know is resting peacefully in their bed
awaiting the new day tomorrow. But for you, there's no difference in
the days. They pass monotonously. And before you know it, it's all
gone.

When it seems like everything is wrong and will never be right again
remember even the darkest nights must give way to day.

The one person who really knows me best says I'm like a cat, the kind
of cat that you just can't pick up and throw into your lap. Yeah the kind
who doesn't mind being held only when it's her idea. Yeah the kind who
feels what she decides to feel when she's good and ready to feel it.
Now I am prowling through the backyard and I am hiding under the car
and I've gotten out of everything I've gotten into so far and I eat when I
am hungry and I travel alone. Just outside the glow of the house is
where I feel most at home.

She cuts herself. Never too deep, never enough to die. But enough to
feel the pain. Enough to feel the scream inside.

You might imagine that a person would resort to self-mutilation only

under extremes of duress, but once I'd crossed that line the first time,
taken that fateful step off the precipice, then almost any reason was a
good enough reason, almost any provocation enough. Cutting was my
all-purpose solution. My scars ought to be a charm bracelet of
memonics, each a permanent reminder of its precipitating event, but
maybe the most disturbing thing I can say about the history of my
cutting is that for the most part I can't even remember the when’s and
the whys behind those wounds. It didn't take much to make me cut.
Frustration, humiliation, insecurity, guilt, remorse, loneliness... I cut
'em all out. They were like a poison, caustic and destructive, as though
lye had been siphoned into my veins. The only way I could survive
them, I thought, was to keep draining them from my blood.

How many cuts could I count? How many could I place in time and
context? I had to admit that I couldn't remember the occasion of
almost any of them, their catalysts, whether epic or mundane,
completely obscured by time. So many moments of supposedly
unendurable pain, now utterly forgotten. u start to think, Maybe I don't
need this anymore. Maybe I never did I was trying to get equilibrium
from two extremes: either I was so upset that I had to cut myself to
relieve it, or I was so numb that I had to cut myself to get back to being
there.
Let the blood run down your arms then try and tell me everything's
okay.

I take the blade and run it gently against my skin, it cuts in deeper and
deeper, the blood bursts out and slowly runs down my arm then it
stops and the pain goes away.

Cutting doesn't solve anything or take the pain away, but for those few
seconds everything is Okay...

Some times in stead of cutting an X on my wrist I make a cross so that

the Lord can forgive me for destroying my body, and I also pray that
the pain stops as the blood slowly drips onto my sheets.

Crimson tears run down my arm, All the pain and all the harm. My only
way to let it out, I wanna scream, I wanna shout. But I don’t make a
sound, I keep it inside. I wanna break out, but instead I hide. I sit in my
room, and hide in my shell, The life that I’m living, my own private hell.
The crimson tears, down my arm they run. I look down at my arm,
what have I done? --- Bleedinginside

Every word, another scar, Some people say I cut for attention,
Attention is the last thing I want, I tell them I've got my reasons, But
what they don't know is, They are the reason I cut, I walk the halls and
people talk, Their harsh words cut in deep, Don't they know what
they're doing, Every word they say is another scar on my wrist.

As she's breaking down she grabs her razor and she whispers... this
time I'm not okay...

I never knew that one singe blade could mess up my life...

There is nothing sadder than a child who has barely seen the world, yet
who has seen enough of it to know that he does not wish to be a part
of it...

You're scared because you don't understand... I'm scared because I do.

I'm okay... isn't that what I'm suppose to say?

Depression is merely anger minus the enthusiasm.

I don't cut...
I fell...
I don't cut...
My dog bit me...
I would always tell you,
These easy lies.
When you really didn't know,
I do cut, and cry, and lie.
You don't know me,
So don't even try. --- Dying inside

The razor moves along her wrist like a river, so peacefully, as that red
water starts to escape, its hard to make it stop.

Nothing is more dear to them than their own suffering - they are afraid
that they will lose it - They feel it, like a whip cracking over their heads,
striking them and yet befriending them; it wounds them, but it also
reassures them. --- Ugo Betti

Why? Why do I feel so gone? I am now so distant I just don't belong.

Now I'm ripped away from existence. I've become so transparent that I
lost all substance. Sitting nowhere, breathing fake air. We don't feel
anymore, so we can't care. Its about time I clear my throat. Let the
hellish screams out till I begin to float. I'd run a million miles from here,
just to get out of this cage and escape from fear. You know you're
screwed when you crave pain, you wanna bleed all throughout your
brain. The blood in my veins is proof of life. I'm not sure if its there, so I
reveal it with a knife. Not me any more, don't know myself. Prisoner in
my own skin, I no longer comprehend health. It's all in the family they
used to say. It's all in the family so it must be ok. They hurt and rape
her, they slash and tear her, they kill and torture, they love the terror.
We are our own army so lets retaliate. Fight, destroy, show them real
hate. Look at the fire in her eyes. That roaring beast never hides. She
lost all she ever had. Blood seeps through her skin cause it hurts so
bad. Her shattered heart pounds against her breast, scattered pieces
cutting holes in her chest. Slowly she fades as she quickly she drowns.
Covered in guilt, sequestered from sounds. Tilting on the edge, about
to fall off. Her mind is so lacerated it has become leathery and soft.-
Anonymous

That was when I cut my arms with a razor blade as a means of creative
expression. I only did it lightly, just grazing the skin, to see the way the
blood would bleed out, to make myself look tougher. Not like some of
those kids who keep going deeper and deeper, wondering what they
look like down to the bone, because it's a world that's so close and yet
so far and so dangerous and so much their own. The only world that is
their own.
How will you know I am hurting, If you cannot see my pain? To wear it
on my body Tells what words cannot explain.

It requires more courage to suffer than to die.

I'm freezing, I'm starving, I'm bleeding to death, Everything's fine.

'But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.

'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat. 'We're all mad here. I'm mad.
You're mad.'
'How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.
'You must be," said the Cat. 'or you wouldn't have come here.'"

Insanity is knowing that what you're doing is completely idiotic, but

still, somehow, you just can't stop it.

"...occasionally I wished I could walk through a picture window and

have the sharp, broken shards slash me to ribbons so I would finally
look like I felt."

Don't let yourself become so angry that you stop loving, because one
day, you'll wake up from that anger, and the person you love will be
gone.

Tough times don't last but tough people do. fuck your past … don't let
is fuck with you...

That's the problem with cutting. Once you start, you can't stop. It's
addicting, cutting is my drug. It serves its purpose perfectly. Once I cut,
I forget about everything that has been wrong. All that is left is my
concentration on my cut. I forget about everything but the pain. Pain
has become my world.

AND MY FAVORITE

!!!
~~~
!!!

They didn't know that she was planning something. Most people
thought she was perfectly fine. She was good at pretending...but some
people knew she wasn't okay but they didnt realize how bad it was.
She would party every weekend. She was border line alcoholic rarely
going 48 hours without being 100% sober. She tried finding comfort in
anything even if that ment fucking some guy she just met one night
while she had been drinking. Everyday was going by as a blur. They
didn't know that she cried herself to sleep every night. They didnt
know that she had practiced cutting herself so many times. They didnt
know that she had written and rewritten letters to all the people she
cared about most telling them she loved them and apologizing. She
even wrote one to the person who was most important to her, who
wouldn't understand what had happened because she was to young.
She wanted her to know it wasn't her fault and she loved her dearly.
They just didnt know. They found her surrounded... in her own blood.
They finally knew... they finally realized that she really wasn't okay and
the rumors, and the fake friends, and the guys who liked her for all the
wrong reasons, and the family, and the lies, and the unperfect body
that she saw that everyone else thought was close to perfect, had
gotten to her. She finally had the courage to press down hard enough...
and they finally knew that she planned this.