The cool blade felt like a pillow in my hand and I couldn't believe how my life had come to this. How a laughing, smiling, living, teenage girl could turn into the thing in my mirror. My once rosy cheeks were gaunt and pale, my clear, bright blue eyes were worn and tired. My hair hung in lanky clumps falling just past my shoulders in greasy piles. My ribs poked out as though just about to break through my skin but I couldn't see it. All I could see was someone who was fat.
My friends used to say I was too skinny but they left when I changed. When I stopped smiling and loving people, they stopped loving me. I don't blame them. I hate me too. What is there to love?
Carefully I inspected the silver razor, holding it to my eye. It was shiny but with a slight hint of rust at the very edge, I knew what that was from...
It had been hard at the start, a part of me told myself that I was better then this- that I was stronger. But I'm not. And now the thoughts that haunt me, that chase me through the day and hound me through the night will kill me. Because I am weak. Because I am ugly. Because I am not good enough.
I put the blade on my wrist feeling a prickle were it is touching my skin. And slowly, gently, I slide it across.