I grip the blade tightly in my right hand while my left hand desperately tries to wipe away the endless stream of tears falling down my cheeks

 As I sit there, surrounded by the suffocating silence of the bathroom, my mind spirals deeper and deeper into darkness. The only thoughts that echo through my consciousness are of endings, of escape, of making all this pain finally stop once and for all Gathering what little courage I have left, I force myself to stand on shaky legs and creep out into the living room. There he is - my father, sprawled out unconscious on the couch, surrounded by his usual mess of bottles and paraphernalia. With trembling fingers and held breath, I carefully reach for the small bag of cocaine lying carelessly beside him, praying he doesn't stir from his drug-induced stupor The journey back to the bathroom feels like miles, each step heavy with the weight of what I'm about to do. Finally back in my spot, I place the stolen cocaine beside me on the floor, my fingers once again finding their way back to the cold metal of the blade...

. Fresh tears blur my vision as I press the blade against my skin, knowing deep down that I shouldn't, that I'm throwing away months of progress, but unable to stop myself. Each new cut brings more tears, more pain, more relief, in an endless cycle of self-destruction. Through my tear-filled eyes, I watch as crimson droplets fall freely onto the white tile floor, creating a horrifying artwork of my own making. My hands still shaking violently, I reach for the bag of cocaine, my fingers fumbling with the small plastic seal as I begin to open it..**