Razor Blade


Razor Blade


Dealing with depression—it’s a hard thing that I wouldn’t even wish on my worst enemy. Seriously.

       Wanting to not be alive, to disappear, and to not be seen. It’s too hard to deal with.

I can’t even tell you how many times I would have loved to jump out of the window, to fall out of a tree

Or maybe        I could just                   hold up a gun, try to rob a place        The cops may come        and kill

Me. Maybe     just go away                and hide my face. No one will           even notice me. Why?     Is this

How I want      it to be? To                   even be here is it all worth it?          How many times have    I felt  

Like this? Is      this how my                  life is to be? I can’t take it               anymore. How nice it    will be

Not to feel.      Is any of this                real? I begin to slip away. I                blank out and start         to fade.

         There is just one thing that brings me back. It’s not my meds, and not my mom, but something

Even more important. My best friend is calling me. I can’t give up; I must hang on. If not for me than just for


Her. I pull the blade away

                                                                                                                                                But the blood will

                                                                                                                                    Not stop. It’s bright

                                                                                                                        And flowing free. She’s

                                                                                                            Looking straight at me,

                                                                                                Her voice is silent, but her look

                                                                                    Is violent. I suddenly regret my choice

                                                            As I think “She’s going to raise her voice”

                                    Silence. She doesn’t speak, but instead

                                                                                    Goes to get the bandages.

                                                                                                Wraps my arm up and gives me a hug.

                                                                                                            She doesn’t even notice the blood.

                                                                        In this moment we realize, speaking not with our voices

                                                                                    But with our eyes.

                                                            I can’t believe what I’ve done. Without her here, I would have been gone.


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741