I finally made it home—not exactly "safe and sound," but at least without any major losses. And I had my cigarettes.
I walked into my room.
Shut the door behind me.
I stripped down carelessly and slid under the covers.
I opened my phone.
Images, clips, twisted things... I already knew I'd regret it, but I didn't stop.
Then I started touching myself, my movements becoming frantic, desperate.
My heart raced, my breath hitched, faster and faster, until...
I finished.
Minutes passed.
Then it was over.
I didn't feel relief.
I didn't even feel guilt.
Just emptiness... and a craving for more.
I stared at the ceiling, my breathing still ragged, as one thought hammered mercilessly at my skull:
*Why am I like this?*
I checked the time. 4:15 PM.
I tossed the phone away.
Silence.
Suddenly, a tiny thought struck my brain like a bullet:
**The meds.**
I didn't take them.
I sat up abruptly, as if someone had ripped the soul right out of my body.
*No, no, no... don't panic. It's just one dose.*
But my mind wasn't buying it.
The thought looped, over and over:
*Ian, you have to take your meds. Now.*
But it's not time for them yet. *Ugh, to hell with my life.*
My heart sped up.
I started sweating.
I swallowed hard.
The room felt smaller.
The air felt heavier.
"Calm down, Ian," I whispered to myself.
I didn't calm down.
I remembered my therapist's words:
*"Don't skip your medication, or things will happen—things you won't like."*
Suddenly, the world flipped upside down.
I couldn't feel the bed beneath me anymore.
*What's happening?*
I couldn't feel myself.
I started rubbing my hands over my face and chest, searching for something that wasn't there.
The film of my life started playing behind my eyelids.
A scrawny teenager, short hair, sharp features, enduring things he was never meant to survive.
Half an hour later...
My heart began to find its rhythm again. The floor grew steady.
I suddenly whispered:
"Adam... I love you."
Why can't I just be his friend?
I love him. I want to be with him... but it feels like there's a glass wall between us. I can't reach him. I want to spend my life with him.
After a few minutes of stillness, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom, looking for the box of razor blades.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror.
Pale face, tired eyes—everything seemed to reflect the emptiness inside more than anything else.
I found them.
They were cold.
I pulled out a blade; my reflection stared back from the steel.
I sat there for a moment, and then... I started.
I began cutting into my left arm without a second thought, muttering:
"Why does nobody love me? I want him... I want him with me."
The warm, sticky liquid began to seep from my arm.
"I want to touch him. To sleep in his arms."
"Adam..."
I started sobbing like a lost child looking for his mother.
Suddenly, the past came flooding back. Memories of my father beating my mother.
"I hate you all... they're the reason. They're the reason for everything I'm going through."
*To be continued...*