I woke up this morning. An almost unbearable tight feeling in my chest. There was not one thing wrong. I wasn’t sick. Or in physical pain. But my thoughts… My thoughts made it so I didn’t even have the energy to get up from my bed. All I wanted was to curl up under my mountain of purple blankets, catch my breath, and disappear. This was only six hours ago. I spent the next few hours watching my younger sister, watching TV, listening to depressing music… But none of it helped the sinking feeling within my chest. This was only four hours ago. I then got dressed, and ran a brush through my long dark hair. I went to go do my paper route early with my mother. The first thing I noticed, the weather, and how surprisingly good it was for a day in Vermont on the verge of Winter to Spring. And then, a letter in the mail from school. My mother called my father. Talking about all my mistakes, openly bashing my choices. I remember wanting to cry. Covering my face with my hair, pulling my hoodie sleeves tighter. The hand tremors. Smiling to customers as I delivered paper after paper. Another day of fake smiles and void feelings. What took about an hour to two, felt endless. Rushing cars, pedestrians walking by… I felt alone. There was this one car, it came out suddenly and all I could think of… Was how much it would take to end it all. One. Step. But then I felt guilty. This was only two hours ago. You see, it’s nothing new to me. Cut wrists, days without eating, or drinking. Sleeping for days… But still just as exhausted. And what’s worse… I miss it. I miss the magic of drawing on my skin with silver, and watching my wrists color red. Running my fingers over day old puffy cuts, feeling the burn of a fresh wounds. Some days, I wonder why I stopped. I make plans to relapse. But then… I feel guilty. Guilty for my father who said he’d kill himself if he didn’t have me. Guilty for making a promise to someone who cares enough for me that I would stop. Guilty for the little sister that I would leave behind with feuding parents. A mother who can’t love, and when she can, her love turns toxic. Her father, who is never around, and drinks away his woes. An older sister, who finally has her whole life together. A cousin, as well as best friend, who would grow up into a success, but may just never find a friendship anything near the compatibility of ours. A grandmother trying to survive cancer. An aunt who believes in me. A newly late grandfather disappointed in me for giving up. And the newly late woman who raised me like a mother, disappointed in my choice to end it all, once and for all. I feel guilty. I want to die, but I literally can’t. Not without ruining everything around me. I can’t find peace, without poisoning everyone around me. So… I live every day, slowly swallowing each drop of poison. Hurting myself. Torturing myself. Terrifying myself. Scared to move. Scared to breath. Scared to think. I. Am. Terrified. Of everything, of everyone, but most importantly… Terrified of myself.