Such Is The Life

It is September, a time for fall leaves and children going to school, and crisp red apples. To everyone but me. I recently decided to open up even more to a very close friend. She was, of course, concerned to find out how I deal with the pain, but to each theor own, right?
Wrong. She begs me to stay safe. And so I have promised not to take any manner of sharp objects to my arms. I have also promised that I will not take away my own life, though the Devil already holds it.
I try to stay strong, but its hard. I've already put a knife to my wrist my wrist and the back of my hand, and it hasn't even been a week. At least my watch covers most of it. Sigh. She doesn't believe me when I tell her I'm nothing special and that she shouldn't waste her time on me. She does, however, swallow my lies when I tell her I kept my promise.
She tells me "Oh, you'll be okay. I've known a few people who have gone through this, so you can talk to me."
She doesn't realize that this only worsens the feelings of guilt and uselessness. This has happened before, and it will happen again. I am only no one new trying to be someone new. Yet my needles still have blood on them and I still cry away my nights.

Such is the life of a suicide statistic.