Desperate Witness of a Risen Dead

CHAPTER III

Anyway aside this fact about my religion, I had a friend I’ve already talked about whose name was Fourca. That summer I argued with him because I was sick of him, he was always so rude, I’ve always helped him to study at my house, but he was diatracted, asked for things and for food whimsically. I hated his behaviour, I made some mistakes too with him actually, because I used to say lies, but with him I learnt to stop and always say the truth, I learnt honesty of words.
We argued for three days, it was so terrible, I stopped talking to him for a while and he still sent messages but I didn’t reply. I was feeling so angry but at the same time so guilty, that terrible doubt came back again “What if I’m wrong? What if I’m blind? Am I really doing the right thing?”
I felt so guilty and terrible that I wanted to die, I just wanted to torture myself, I hated myself, I wanted to see my blood, I wished it so much, so I took my multitasking knife and with the saw tool I made three cuts on my left arm. Now I still have the scars, but the sensation when I did it was so great. It was so satisfying to hate yourself and torture yourself seeing the knife spotted with blood, I remember I had even made a pic to it and to my arm, but I wanted to keep it secret because I wanted it to be just self-punishment, I didn’t want to go around to be proud just because I had a scar and i had punsihed myself, I didn’t have to be proud about anything, I was a piece of shit and I had to go to hell, God had to send me to hell and give me what I deserve. I felt that if people knew that I had that scar, it would have been stupid, selfish, probably I thought that if I tried to reveal about it to someone except my parents, I would have sliced myself again. I can remember my laugh when I cutted it, my crazy smile. I felt no pain, I was so happy I hurted and punished myself. I wanted to die, but I couldn’t, the Bible said I can’t kill myself, I thought that if I kill myself I would make all the people who love me sad, make them suffer a lot. I didn’t want to make people suffer, so I tried, I tried to go on.
I and Fourca made peace, when we kept meeting at school in the end of summer we were still a bit angry with each other, but slowly, with a lot of time, months, our relationship became much better, he became a much nicer person, and I was glad about it, even if we argued again many times and somedays we didn’t say a word to each other for five hours. It was too stressful to pass all the time at school with him. I was so full of fear every morning.
I used to put plasters on the cuts I made, it took so long for them to be cured so my mum noticed and I didn’t tell her what it was, even if she saw the cuts. She brought me to a doctor, because they took so long to go away. At that time I had already told her I had cut myself, she said I was crazy and she was right maybe, but she can’t understand the anger I feel towards myself, she can’t understand how much I care about people. I’d kill myself for them rather than making them suffer with my miserable existence.