Crazy
Capter 20
Chapter 20: Cara
The next morning, I decide to take a shower. As I’m in the shower, I take my razor. I have an idea: I could finally end it. I could finally end it all. Today. At this very moment. I could end it all.
I feel bad. I feel bad about everything. I feel bad about cutting school. I feel bad about getting pregnant. I feel horribly bad about killing off my baby. What is wrong with me? I’m a murderer now…
So, I take my razor and cut along my leg. I watch the sweet red blood gush out of the little cuts I make.
I want to cut enough for me to die, but I don’t know the right places to cut in order for me to do that.
I feel sick, but I don’t even care.
I am an emo, after all…
I pass out and wake up in a hospital. With doctors all around me. I passed out from my suicide attempt. I cut too deep but not deep enough. Too deep for me to not end up in the hospital, but not deep enough for me to die…not deep enough for me to finally be at peace.
I hate this place. I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to live. I just want to be gone from this world.
I always say that I know…it’s part of my whole depressed emo-type image…but this time, I really, truly, mean it.
I don’t scream though. I just lie there, keeping my mouth silenced…keeping my mouth closed shut…until I finally speak up and say something. I ask a question, actually. I ask them how long am I going to be here.
“You’re going to leave soon, actually.”
I sigh. I think I’d actually rather be here than at home…but most of all, I’d rather be dead. Gone. Gone into oblivion.
I start to wonder what would it be like if I was dead. I doubt anyone would care at all. But then one of the doctors interrupts my thoughts.
“You’re going to a mental hospital, instead.”
I don’t want to be with all those crazies…I want to die, instead.
I get there. I meet my roommate. Her name’s Tess. She’s wearing ripped jeans from Hollister or something, a sideways Red Sox baseball cap, and a baggy old grey sweatshirt.
She rolls her eyes at me, and my all black clothes. My legs and wrists are wrapped with bandages and casts, and what not. She probably knows…she knows that I tried killing myself…
It’s weird being here. I never thought my crazyness, my emoness, would come to this. I never…never…ever…did.
The next morning, I decide to take a shower. As I’m in the shower, I take my razor. I have an idea: I could finally end it. I could finally end it all. Today. At this very moment. I could end it all.
I feel bad. I feel bad about everything. I feel bad about cutting school. I feel bad about getting pregnant. I feel horribly bad about killing off my baby. What is wrong with me? I’m a murderer now…
So, I take my razor and cut along my leg. I watch the sweet red blood gush out of the little cuts I make.
I want to cut enough for me to die, but I don’t know the right places to cut in order for me to do that.
I feel sick, but I don’t even care.
I am an emo, after all…
I pass out and wake up in a hospital. With doctors all around me. I passed out from my suicide attempt. I cut too deep but not deep enough. Too deep for me to not end up in the hospital, but not deep enough for me to die…not deep enough for me to finally be at peace.
I hate this place. I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to live. I just want to be gone from this world.
I always say that I know…it’s part of my whole depressed emo-type image…but this time, I really, truly, mean it.
I don’t scream though. I just lie there, keeping my mouth silenced…keeping my mouth closed shut…until I finally speak up and say something. I ask a question, actually. I ask them how long am I going to be here.
“You’re going to leave soon, actually.”
I sigh. I think I’d actually rather be here than at home…but most of all, I’d rather be dead. Gone. Gone into oblivion.
I start to wonder what would it be like if I was dead. I doubt anyone would care at all. But then one of the doctors interrupts my thoughts.
“You’re going to a mental hospital, instead.”
I don’t want to be with all those crazies…I want to die, instead.
I get there. I meet my roommate. Her name’s Tess. She’s wearing ripped jeans from Hollister or something, a sideways Red Sox baseball cap, and a baggy old grey sweatshirt.
She rolls her eyes at me, and my all black clothes. My legs and wrists are wrapped with bandages and casts, and what not. She probably knows…she knows that I tried killing myself…
It’s weird being here. I never thought my crazyness, my emoness, would come to this. I never…never…ever…did.