Depression has become a slippery slope for me. The terrential rains come and send my firmly planted feet flying out from under me. I'm sliding down this mud caked hill and I can barely hold on. And when I finally gain my balance the quicksand takes me.
The knife takes me. The pain and the escape it gives me envelopes me. It is my bliss and my salvation and I am thankful for every drop that spills from my chaffed wrists. It gives me something else to think about besides the hole in my chest. The empty space that can never seem to be filled because it is a blackhole and they are never satisfied.
I'm in control. There is power that comes with gripping something so tight it becomes a part of you and for an instant I become God. Millimeter of flesh and vein and tendon and blood seperate me from life and death. Not too rough or sudden now. Just enough pressure there. Oh that ones still fresh let it be. Always across the street and not down the road. Safety first.
It sounds really bad and I'm sure I'll regret writing this down but sometimes in the back of my mind I hear a little voice praying I'll slip up. Just a little. Then I can finally find real salvation.
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