To Die is to Leave. To Live is to Immerse.

Addiction. When the meaning of the term is taken into consideration, it’s a scary thing. To be dependent on something and need it to live, be it an illicit drug or otherwise, is like putting your life into some unknown being’s hands. The feeling may be pure ecstasy or maybe even an immeasurable pain, but to try and evade it means a tricky withdrawal, and in some cases, death.

I started the habit a while ago, but in the wake of quitting, I have discovered that the only way out is just that, death. A broken home life on top of my own bitter qualities made the razor the only thing bearable for me. I tried to stop for years, but the second I quit, the only thing I think about is how unbearable life is without it.

The feeling of bleeding out is my addiction. Without it, there is no reason for me to live. The sting of the blade is what makes me high, and the uncontrollable sobbing is my crash. The razor is my needle. The edge is my methamphetamine. The scars are the lost brain cells. I’ve developed a physical dependence on a psychological drug.

Without the pain, life is no longer bearable, and I must give in to my suicidal urges. Standing on the edge of the roof of my apartment building, I let the wind rush past me. It makes me feel as though I can fly out of this world and forget what I’ve been through. To die is to leave my past behind. To live is to immerse myself in it. I can’t bear to remember the nights any longer. The nights that my father would tell me how I should live will forever be left behind me.

One step forward and then there’s no going back.

One step back and I could reconsider.

One step forward and there will never be another like me on this Earth.

One step back and I could change the world.

One step forward and I can never take another breath.

One step back and I could live to take thousands more.

I lift my foot slowly, guiding it forward into the cool, night air. Setting it down into the empty space in front of me, I let my body weight drag me onto the concrete below. On the way down, my final thought resounds:

This is the last anyone will ever see of me. I pray they don’t miss me when I’m gone.