I took my right wrist and did the same thing, biting my lip to keep from screaming. The pain was bad, but not unbearable and as I laid down in my “bed” I continued to push my open wounds together, bringing up more blood. I knew where my veins were and I could’ve made sure to cut on them, to bleed faster, but I didn’t want to die right away. I don’t know why I wanted it to be slow, but I did, and so it went. First I started to feel dizzy, then my vision started to get real hazy and I lost track of where I was and what I was doing. I started to feel really tired, an exhaustion I’ve never felt before, and the last thing I remember that night, was closing my eyes, hoping I would never wake up. 542Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIUvbsb9VuX
542Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtMoLcEyDZ9
Ever since then, I’ve never again tried to kill myself. I don’t give up, but that day I did. And I’ve never been more ashamed of myself or hated this place more than I did that day. Some people say that what’s in the past can’t hurt you anymore. But I call bullshit on that. The past haunts you, and never lets you go like a leech sucking the blood out of you. Only instead of blood, it sucks life. And when you think you’ve finally forgotten the past, it crawls from hibernation out from the back of your brain and seizes you until you can hardly breathe. So, yes, I might be crazy but to me the past can kill you as fast as a bullet and as painful as one too. 542Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT8XGKeyDHy
542Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJLMTZgK6mD
Over the years, I started to believe that I really did kill her. After one goes through constant therapy and psych evaluations and is constantly told contrary to what they believe, they start to doubt themselves. Think that maybe they’ve got a screw loose. I think what people didn’t realize was how much she meant to me. She was my friend and I miss her every day. I use to try to remember our last day together. But I don’t try anymore. It’s too painful and so I’ve stopped remembering. They tell me that I was the last one to see her alive, well obviously I wasn’t. Her killer was the last one to see her alive. But then again, maybe I’m the killer. What if I am? What if deserve to die? Maybe I do. Either way, I’ll be dust tomorrow, carried on the wind. May my soul rest in peace. 542Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGmVTssZEwt
542Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfgvmr33shR
542Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgiiIpLp6Xf
542Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ0Z765KZim
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