Oops.
I dropped it.
Hm? What's that? What did I drop? Nothing special really. Yes. Nothing special. It's just a knife. A very dull knife at that. But it's still a knife, isn't it? And a knife is dangerous... a knife could hurt... a knife could kill. A knife isn't safe... no, not safe at all.
Haha. You must think that I'm in my room right now, with the door locked and the lights out, and me, poor, pitiful, pathetic little me sitting in the dark corner--- with the dull knife--- ready to kill myself. Ah, the drama; the thrill; the beauty.
Yes, beauty. I did say beauty and no, I hinted no sarcasm. Why beauty, you say? What's not beautiful about it? What's not beautiful about the impulsive, clouded desire of a teenager, a teenager who wants to escape a pain that's beyond everything, pain that's beyond life, pain that's beyond pain? And is there no beauty to see, to hear, to feel-- the fear of this teenager?
Accept the Pain to Escape the Pain.
Fear of dying.
Fear of living.
... so beautiful.
But no, I'm not that beautiful teenager who wants to---needs to die; I'm not that teenager who has to choose between ending life in pain or living life in pain; I'm not that Toy of Beauty and Pain I so want to be the victim of. No, that's not me at all.
I don't hate anyone.
I don't hate myself.
I don't want to die.
I'm just a teenager who dropped a dull knife. Have you forgotten about the knife already? Are thinking about the drama, the thrill, and the beauty of suicide? Have I charmed you... and are you now lost in the Void of Suicide?
Come now, don't be swayed by my words.
All right then, I'll stop my play.
Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the dull knife. It's just odd, you know, that whenever I look at it, I keep hearing a voice... keep remembering the things I've been told over and over again. That's why I dropped the knife, actually... I heard the voice.
The voice of a friend.
"It's wrong. Hurting yourself is wrong. Remember that."
Do I hurt myself?
Yes, I do.
No shame.
No pride.
Just plain truth.
Do you think something's wrong with me? Do you think what I'm doing is wrong? Do you think that hurting myself is wrong? Are you like my friend? Are you going to talk to me about how wrong I am? Are you to going to make me stop?
... are you going to help me?
Oops.
I dropped it again. Do excuse me; I haven't held that knife in months. And don't worry, I'm not about to ramble about how much I like to see my blood... how much I like to bleed... how much I like to hurt myself--- no, I wouldn't do that. I'd make you think I'm insane. I wouldn't want that.
I'm not denying or acknowledging anything though.
Oh, what's that?
You think I'm asking for help?
And you're going to help me?
Help.
... is that what you call it?
Hm... no, I can't say that I'm asking for help and no, I'm not looking for someone who'll listen to me... someone who may understand me. I'm just talking. Nothing wrong with that now, right? I'm just a talking teenager with a dull knife... just a talking teenager.
And---
What's this? You're calling me a liar now?
That I must hate someone.
That I must hate myself.
That I must want to die.
... just because I hurt myself?
Is that what you think? Hm... I suppose I'm not the first you've met then. And you think I'm like them. You think I hurt myself because it's the only way I know how to vent; you think I hurt myself because I feel alive; and you think I hurt myself in hopes that I would die.
I may not hate anyone.
... but I didn't say I like everyone.
I may not hate myself.
... but I didn't say I like myself.
I may not want to die...
... but I didn't say I want to live.
That brings up a problem doesn't it? How are you going to convince me to stop hurting myself when I don't care about myself... when I don't care if I hurt myself... when I want to hurt myself? What can you say to make me stop?
Oops.
No, I didn't drop it again.
... I cut a little too deep.
Haha. A dull knife is still a knife.
Trying to escape pain with pain.
Trying to accept pain with pain.
Trying.
Trying.
Trying.
I can hear my friend's voice again.
"Promise me you'll take care of yourself."
I wouldn't do that.
"For me."
Now that's different.
"Take care of yourself for me. Promise me."
I have to go wash this now.
I might get an infection.
After all, a promise is a promise.