author's note: this is raw, unedited so please, please, please don't judge. everything inside of me has no words left.

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at sixteen,
i first knew what it was like to bleed for someone who only had a vague memory of who i was. and i can still remember the smell in the air and i could go to the store and point out the razor that i used to bleed for the very first time. and i was so, so scared of anyone's reaction that i covered the (pathetic) scars with bandages only to realize that people would still wonder what happened. and (on accident) i lifted my hand to wave goodbye to her and her eyes grew wide at the sight of faint scars. she asked what happened but i pretended that i didn't hear and walked out of the room. and by the end of the day, i was in the (school) bathroom, vomiting the tears and the blood i could never bleed. and when she left two hours early without a proper goodbye, i felt myself choking back tears for my own sake. then i found myself a hundred miles away with no one i knew and i bled almost every night because i didn't know what else to do. july was the last real time i saw her and the last real time she and i laughed together. but i almost broke and was so close to telling a friend that i was bleeding (but fear of his reaction kept my mouth sewn). she called me, not to ask how i was doing and then i found myself blurred with tears and stained with blood. it was the first time i experienced with a knife because the blade was doing nothing for me. everything inside of me was breaking. the first suicide attempt was in august with scars to show and i held a heavy, bleeding heart the night my father and step-mother confronted my scars but i told them they would not understand. but the next day, scars burned as they took me to a therapist and i confessed to her things i would have never told anyone else. i remember when she asked if i could have three wishes, what would they be. the very last wish was for the girl who makes me bleed and that none of this had ever happened. i only later hated everything about her that i lied just to be out of the room and never have to see such a face again. no matter how many times she told me it was okay to feel like this because it was a part of growing up, i silently scratched at scars under long sleeves. i first knew what it was like to pour words onto paper in order to say the words i could never say. i wrote you three letters and waited weeks for a reply. i bled too much for no one's sake when i thought i was getting better and that was when i knew, silence is such a deadly weapon and she never cared for me at all. everything she ever told were lies and she still meant so much to me that i couldn't bring myself to hate her. i still had time to make myself perfect for her.

at seventeen,
the knife never was efficient so i broke apart a razor and found the blade that has now made a majority of the scars. i made my deepest scars in february. as i crawled up the stairs, screaming at the blank walls, screaming why doesn't she understand? after all the things i wrote her. (i learned she was afraid but how afraid does she believe i was as scared burned and i broke even before the letters were sent.) but that night i crawled out of bed, to the bathroom, and took the blade to my left forearm, close to the visible blue vein. i couldn't believe the bleeding and i was so afraid that this was the end. it couldn't be the end because i had so much more left to do to myself in order for the imperfections to disappear and therefore, become perfect. i scrambled to wipe away the dripping blood and make sure nothing fell to the floor. i woke up the next morning with brick red blood seeping through my pajama sleeves. and i bled for her, oh god, i bled for her and she doesn't understand or see any of this. i've tried so hard to make her understand. i burned the picture of her, knowing that i could never look at her the same way again. in may, i couldn't believe i had survived the year without her and in such honor, i bled because all the things i realized that i can't let this go without her help because we don't deserve to hurt anymore. (did she even hurt?) when i left that place, i thought for once i could be happy. i loved the way he made me smile and when our hands touched, i melted inside, thinking that nothing could be better but i must have done something wrong for him to disappear like i never existed (but i was used to it). i found myself on my knees, begging to God to set me free of everything i've done wrong but for some reason, i felt His blood wasn't enough and i began to think that He needed my blood but i was wrong. and i discovered He is worth more than anything i could ever hold in my hands and more than all the riches could ever give me (and yet i was still bleeding). and then i saw her (in august) and all the memories of scars, blood, vomit, and tears came to the surface and i tried so hard to keep my composure but by the end of the day, the results were vomit and blood. but i can recall how scars burned when she looked at me like i should be the sorry one for bleeding but she never walked a day in my shoes and then i started the letters i can't bring myself to send (yet). i look back and see the friendship decomposing over the months and maybe i tried too hard to restore it but i'm still bleeding into the new year. and everyone thinks the bleeding is over (i gave away my razorblades to my closest of friends) only to find one in my hand days later when i realized that i can't even look at her because i am so unworthy of anything beautiful (and this is what keeps me alive from time to time). and she is the first one who made me question who i am inside and if i am in love with her, a question i don't have an answer to.

at eighteen,
i was bleeding before i was one week and though it was a relief to tell the group, i didn't know i could break down like that anymore and i never knew how much this still hurt(s). i am nothing but a disease to her, one look and she would be on the floor, coughing up the impurities i stained her with as i bleed the imperfections out. and i'm still choking on silence, in the silence she left me in more than year ago. and all i want to know is her feelings and how (much) this effects her but i can't even bring myself to look at her for more than two seconds. so how can it be then when sadness drips from her blue eyes, i want nothing more than to make her smile, knowing that i melt inside? twenty-one months later and i'm still bleeding, left consumed by her silence, wanting to know why she never did anything to help me, knowing that i'm too afraid to do anything now that distance isn't a factor. i never wanted her sympathy. i just want her to acknowledge the fact that i was bleeding and she knew about it. they tell me (still) just to forget but it's easier said than done and this bleeding has shaped everything inside of me, making me wonder who i can trust anymore. and the people who mock and laugh at things such as bleeding doesn't deserve to be alive anymore because they don't know what it's like to live life so afraid of what is going to happen later at night (when most of the bleeding occurs). i never knew that being numb would take this much out of me. i don't know myself anymore, i'm afraid of who i might become and suicide has never been this close to me before, and it's on its knees, begging just for me but i'm not willing to give myself in just yet.