" Having nothing to do certainly is boring." I spat out in irritation, angrily squishing my cheek against my balled fist.
          " Jason, sit, calm down. You don't have a reason for this. You need to-" 
          I stopped, my face turning red, slightly sitting up from my chair.
          " I need to," I put a large emphasis on the word 'need', " calm down? Who are you to tell me to calm down?" I start to raise my voice  beginning a wave of heated rage. 
         " You do not have the right to tell me what to do!" I screamed out in my therapist's direction almost completely blinded from my anger. Dr. R. only gave me a blank expression, only raising a brow to respond to my pointless screams.
           The rest of the day was completely blurred from my mental and physical fatigue from this morning's Therapist visit with my dearest friend Doctor R.  The day was very quick after my work day was done doing my usual to teach the little ones in my ballet academy how to properly point their toes, only a rough guess of the day was that I had gone to Starbucks, work, and back to my home where I had lied down on the couch listening to faint music in the back of my mind. 
          I wake up at around 11:30 pm, extremely tired from the hours of sleeping I wasn't used to up to this odd hour. My mind at this time was filled with horrible emotion ,tearing at my lungs, not allowing me to breath. The pressure pressed up against me in a thick warm wave of tears. It felt like a suicide, it was suicide. I could run from the madness dwelling in my mind, but it was becoming larger then I could handle, struggling and gagging to find air even though the air I was breathing was completely clear. I didn't have a clue of what to do with my struggling compulsions of the unknown fear I haven't had in a long time. I was struggling against myself on the bleeding lines across my stomach as they screamed for a stop from my self torture, my hand ached from the metal pressure. 
        " Do not lose composure, do not cry for help," I quietly whispered under my breath, only leaving a small wheeze of struggle as I drew more lines against my irritated skin, more blood running down my stomach. I had the most grotesque scene lied out in front of me, shaking from the stinging pain, only wanting to speak in his tongues I could never really see with my own eyes as one of my own.
       " Please, please, do not lose composure."
       I drew against my skin, the knife that drew more colored lines across my hips up to my clear chest. I tensed and growled in pain, drawing in more lines along my seemed perfect body. The sickening pleasure of my own blood dripping down my body left me in tears as the next part of my body shook for more torture, the newly picked razor slowly growing near to his fingers of the opposite hand. I dropped the heavy steak knife, letting it shatter to the ground. I slowly but surely pressed the blade against my finger tip, tearing into my delicate finger, sliding up the palm to my inner bend of the arm, letting a haul of blood pour to the ground in puddles along with my heavy tears. 
        My stomach growled from the pressure I had applied to my skin, leaving my muscles cramped.

        I felt almost free to be doing this to myself, for whatever terrible reason, this made me feel real physical pain, real pain in a whole. I love this pain that I am sliding against myself, I could never feel any better, and any worse, then I do right in this moment.

       After thinking on this subject for only a second too long, I tremble to my side, laying on the floor throwing my feet up on the base of my windowsill. With this, I pull up my other long sleeve digging the blade into my skin, spilling the wrist of what I will never be- immaculate. 

       " Please, stay quiet you idiot." I cautiously whisper my own incision into my skin, crying soft insults at my bloody mess I've managed to smear across my newly cleaned, almost white, floors. I sharply slide the blade up my arm, arching my back in pain before starting back at the start of my wrist back up my arm, right next to the previous line. I repeat this motion many of multiple times, I guess around five or seven more. I stop, dropping my arms to the floor letting out gasps of air attempting to keep my cries quiet, then picking up the blade again to start my process over again. I press the blade against my wrist once more, crossing horizontally across my already layed out bleeding lines, keeping these newer and shorter lines close together. I let out a quick sound of pain before proceeding up to my shoulder in crossed scratches of self loathing doubt. I'm watching as the blood is feeding off of my humiliation and insecurities, adding more lines to the collection of the rest. 

         I pull down my long sweatpants revealing scars of the same scenario then firmly grasping the blade before writing out " WORTHLESS" up my leg, keeping every single individual word written out slowly letting myself feel the pain I so rightfully deserve, with more tears to follow down my cheeks. After scribbling down more jagged worse, and more lines across my body, I stiffly slide the razor across the floor. I curl my knees up to my chest, letting my long damp hair spread across the bloodied floor and face, shakily sliding my red  hand over my face covering ever imperfection with my blood, pouring tears everywhere they reach. I quietly whisper out to God, leaving my words lost like tears in the rain as I give an abrupt end to the night with echoing screams of emotion leading to no one in particular but myself in my empty home.

      I desperately breathe out to the walls of my room as I leave my quiet cries to end my night.