Byberry (Part 2)

‘This can’t kill me,’ I’m thinking to myself. ‘It’s not like I’ll slit my wrists,’ I say trying to convince my mind to believe it. So many things have been going through my mind lately like suicide, or possibly going to a mental hospital for all of this. I simply can’t believe it. ‘A few little cuts can’t rule my life,’ and ‘how could this happen to me?’ I think back to that day. It was a nice September day, but I was in my room, angry and sad, my feelings breaking me apart. On comes the radio and the volume increases. Out come a pair of scissors, I love the feeling of cold metal on my hot flesh. Suddenly, I got an idea. ‘What if I actually cut myself?’ As I think of the possibilities, my hand moves back and forth over my arm. The adrenalin rush comes with my mixed feelings of being sad, angry, scared, and excited. Then I see what I’ve done. I slowly look down at my arm and see a trickle of blood running down it. ‘I’ve just cut myself,’ the thoughts just keep coming. After that it was all downhill. Once maybe twice a week I would cut. Whenever I looked at my arm, I’d get so angry that the urge to cut came back immediately. ‘I’m going to get caught,’ and ‘I never should’ve done that,’ are the only thoughts that cross my mind. Pretty soon the scissors and the feeling they gave me were all I could think about. Everyone was scared and kept telling me not to, but they didn’t know how it felt, how I felt. After a while, I started to calm down, but they sent me to a counselor. This got me very confused. ‘How did they find out,’ and ‘why are they doing this to me?’ were now my thoughts. So I ended up going to the counselor for a while, pretending it helped. When I was done I tried to be good. Eventually the feelings came back. They took me over again. I cut more than I had before. My parents found out again and made me visit the mental hospital for a day. They got mad because it didn’t scare me. It was actually entertaining. Since I told them I didn’t care, they sent me here. Byberry Mental Hospital is my new home. I wonder, when I sit in my room with my roommates ‘how could I have changed this?’ Oh well. I have been here for a few months, four at the most. They’ve put me in the padded room about three times; I’ve only been put in the straight jacket once though. That was when I first got here and was screaming about how they never should’ve sent me here. Most of the time I just sit and think. Of friends, life, and what it would be like to be outside again. This is a living hell for me. I’m so used to getting love and attention and here I don’t get any. That’s why I plan to kill myself later on. I met a new ‘friend’ here. His name is Harry. We kind of like each other, but we’d have to get out of here before we ‘date’. He’s helped me plan this, though he doesn’t agree with it. The day is finally here. It’s time for our medicine. After my roommates leave is when I’ll do it. I have the rope behind my back. They don’t even have a clue. Slowly they leave.