It is normal for me to think of suicide
I think of death as a comfort
At first it was just a fleeting thought
But as I grew older it became a daily occurrence
Of course I tried
But it didn\'t work
I do anything to escape the reality that makes me feel so claustrophobic
I hate looking at pictures of me as a young child
Always smiling
A gleam in my eye
I try to go back and remember where it all went wrong
I can remember the first time I brought a blade to my skin
I was 11 years old
I am only 15
Yet, I look at life as a cage
I think that life isn\'t made for everyone
I wish I could go back
And pinpoint my first panic attack
Or the first time I realized that I hate myself
But when I look back often my memories blurr
They blurr to mascara stained cheeks
And blood stained wrists and thighs
Screaming I want to die
Going to therapists and school social workers
I don\'t call it substance abuse
Because how can something that makes me feel so good
Be portrayed as so bad
I know what abuse is
And this is not it
Abuse doesn\'t make you forget the pain
My mother once asked me
How I will feel about my scars when I\'m 25
And I replied only with
\"I won\'t be here to feel anything\"
I cannot escape this life
It\'s hard to think about the future
When my guidance councilor asks me what I want to be when I get older
A voice in the back of my head whispers \"dead\"
But I just smile, and say I\'m not sure yet.