A/N: I had no intention of continuing this story, just wanted to leave it as a short story. Yet apparently my mind wants it to be a bit of a saga... Self explainatory I suppose... I'm still not okay as it occured to me tonight, which is why I wrote this... I really should stop screwing around and get my life together... but for some reason I can't...

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Fighting the Urge

The scissors were right there on the desk. Mere inches away from my shivering hand. This couldn’t be happening again, not to me, not again. My body trembled in fear as I realized my hand was drifting towards the harmful object. I quickly withdrew my hand however, not wanting to even touch the device that had the ability to cause such damage.

Everything is spinning. My body is shaking ferociously. It’s like an addiction that I can’t win against no matter how hard I may try. I clench my hands together hoping that they’ll stay in my lap, and not reach in front of me again.

Time passes by slowly, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. This is pathetic. Everything about you is pathetic. Your body has practically rejected you, not to mention everyone else. You can’t be with the group… You’ll just have another panic attack.

“Shut up…” I mutter, now grasping at both sides of my head and rocking back and forth. “Stop thinking… just stop…” I mumble again, this time feeling my breathe catch in my chest.

Nothing prevents the thoughts from coming though, as full out panic attack strikes my body. In a desperate attempt to relax my body I dive onto my bed and hug a pillow nearby. It doesn’t work however as I spot the tack still sitting on my nightstand from before.

I pick up the tack, still gasping for breath, and roll up the long sleeve t-shirt I was wearing. Gently I run the tack across one of the still visible scars, not hard enough to leave a mark, but still fulfilling the craving slightly.

Then, just as I began to push deeper, I drop the tack in panic, remembering my mother and how she would react, not to mention my friends. Determined to stop the insanity I throw the tack across the room and it hits my dresser. Cruelly I think that tomorrow I’ll probably step on it when I go to pick out my clothes…

Feeling a little relieved, yet still in a panicked state, I find my mind wandering again. Struggling for control I roll out of my bed and stand up. A little pain never hurt anyone. I head back to my computer desk. Just pick up the scissors. You could always end it right now.

This time I pick up the scissors and glance down at the scarred wrist once more. All the pain coursing through my body drove me to place the blade on my wrist as I continued to shake. My chest tightened and my head began to pound, as my vision blurred and I no longer felt like myself.

Just as before however, when I began to push the scissor blade deeper into my wrist I saw the scattered pictures on the floor. The pictures I had been sorting through just the other night. They were pictures from eighth grade. Pictures of Holly, Chris, and Derek…

Tears fell from my eyes and I immediately dropped the scissors to the ground. I picked up the pictures and from and overwhelming sense of gratitude kissed each one of them. Even though my friends were now fast asleep in their beds, they still managed to save me.

Bringing the pictures with me, I went to my bed and placed them on my pillow beside me. I still felt my body shake, but I tried to ignore it. Covering myself in my three blankets, I curled up into a ball, and tried to stop thinking, or at least tried to stop thinking about what had just happened… and why I had almost let it happen again…

Eventually exhaustion and fear won over my terrible addiction to hurt myself, and I fell into a light slumber, that would most likely be awoken by a nightmare three hours later.

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