How do you know when
you're at the point where you are officially labeled 'insane'? I'm
going crazy. Or maybe I've already reached full mental insanity. I'm
not quite sure. What I do know is, I will surely soon be spending my
days in a mental institution. Maybe that's where I should be. I walk
up and down the streets, racing, my heart pounding. Unable to catch
my breath. I want to cut, I want to bleed, I want to feel. Cut,
bleed, feel. I want a razor; I want currents of blood streaming up
and down my arms, my face, my wrists. Slit my wrists. Opened veins.
Down the road, not across the street. Thanks, Mom, for teaching me
that. People stare as I walk past-don't walk alone, they say. It's
dangerous. But I like walking alone. Cut, bleed, feel. I don't want
to eat. Food is the enemy, and I will not surrender. Food is dirty.
You are dirty. You don't deserve to live. Cut, bleed, feel. Stupid,
worthless girl. You are fucking insane anyway. Why does it matter?
Get rid of it. I need to get drunk, to get high.. something,
ANYTHING. To get rid of this. Cut. The voice in my head. Why won't it
go away? Make it go away. It won't go away. Claw at it, try to rip it
out. Screaming; yelling; always yelling. Make it stop. Bleed. Nothing
will stop it. I'm numb, the voice overpowers everything. I step into
the middle of the road and walk along, hoping to get hit. The misery
gone. Feel. I won't feel anything. People stare as I walk past-don't
walk alone, they say. It's dangerous. But I like walking alone.