4 a.m. knows all my secrets

Warm red tiles

So here I am sitting on the cold bathroom floor in my underwear, covered in my tears and blood at 4 a.m. I am covered in sweat with 8 deep slash wounds on my arms and legs, pouring rivers of crimson blood after twenty minutes of me creating them.

I feel really dizzy now. Maybe it is from blood loss or maybe it is the fact that I have not eaten a real meal in around a month. But I think it is guilt, the guilt and pain if a broken promise. I feel really dizzy and sick now. There is even a growing sense of euphoria. Maybe I will actually die this time, instead of waking up in a hospital bed again.

Dark spots are beginning to invade my vision; I can not move and it hurts to breathe. I am going to pass out, now I will drift of into wonderland. A place we're the world no longer matters.

This part has always been my favourite. I have a chance to escape from the world for a while. I can pretend that my heart no longer beats, my lungs no longer draw breath and my brain no longer sends neurological impulses to my cells forcing me to move.

I like this, the darkness; the silence. It is so relaxing, a time where earthly problems no longer matter and you could slip into oblivion and not really care because of the calm that envelopes your mind.

Then a shattering noise pierces the the veil of darkness that I am cloaked in. A sound of pure, primal fear. It destroys the peace. That was all I heard before I finally slipped away. Life seemed to have finally spat me out like a stomach expelling something bad from the body.

This is my life now. Comparing myself to vomit, one of the most discusting things in the world. A lot like me then. Maybe I am crazy, but I do not really care. But that is the kind of person I am. Pretending everything is fine when I am the most broken.

The screaming has stopped now. Maybe I am dead; if thus is death the I kind of like it. Alone and at peace without the pain and fear that I have been forced to endure for to long.

But life is a botch and I had to wake up. One again I awoke ti the sound of a heart monitor and the smell of bleach. Bleach is good, even though it burns your insides it almost always gets the job done. But I have got the worst luck and all I got was a month in the psychiatric ward. Anyway I am going off topic.

My body did not want to respond, but slowly I began to regain feeling in my limbs. My eyes fluttered open, the sunlight manipulating my irises as they tried to bring the world into focus.

When I could finally see again I noticed the stitches on my wrists. Yay, another trip to the psych ward and a padded room. God I hate that place. The therapists are always talking down to you and there are no visitors. Not that I have any friends anyway. I fucking hate hospitals.

The door was pushed open gingerly by a redheaded nurse. She could have been cute if it was not for the thick rimmed glasses and and messy pig tales. She gave me a timid grin before she spoke in a surprisingly soft voice.

"Hello" she spoke, her voice slightly wavering on that single syllable word. "I will go fetch the doctor".

With that rather clipped sentence she vanished from the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. That is possibly the worst thing that anyone can do. My thoughts eat me alive, slowly destroying me, leaving me a hollow shell.

A tall, pale man stepped into the room. He had a shock if black hair and a nice arse. I probably should not be focusing on his assets but in what he was saying.

"Taylor, you burst two major veins I your both your wrists. You needed an operation to halt the bleeding. We put you in an induced coma for a week to give your body time to recover.

"I am ordering a full psychiatric test based on the sheer amount of scars found on your body and by there depth. The attempted suicide only adds to my worry. This test is mandatory and can not be refused."
Hus voice was deep and laced with strong emotion, making me believe that suicide is something that has effected him personally.

My throat was sore and I believed that my voice would betray me. So all I could do was nod while my eyes portrayed the dispare that grew larger in my soul every day. Slowly destroying the small amount if happiness that remained.

The doctor turned, showing off his arse that I openly oggled as it would probably be the last good thing I saw before I was condemned ti the he'll known as the psych ward. During the time in between all I could do was pray. Even though I do not believe in God. Hay, maybe Satan will take potty on me and kill me now.