It’s two a.m.
The emergency room psychiatrist looks up from his clipboard
with eyes paid to care
and asks me if I see people who aren’t really there.
I say, “I see people
how the hell am I supposed to know
if they’re real or not?”
He doesn’t laugh
neither do I.
The math’s not on my side
ten stitches and one lie.
I swear I wasn’t trying to die.
I just wanted to see what my pulse looked like from the inside.

-From Andrea Gibson’s “When The Bow Breaks” (YouTube Link)


Hi, so I made a post where I asked to reblog and message me because I wanted more SPN blogs to follow, but I got so many reblogs that I couldn’t get through all of them, SO new rules:

I PROMISE to check out the blogs of the first 50 reblogs and at least the first 20 of the messages I recieve! Go for it guys, you might gain a follower here!!!!!!

I cut to breathe.

So today here on Tumblr I just happened to stumple upon a post, were someone compared cutting, to pulling yourself out of the water - or in this case, pulling yourself out yourself out of depression, fear, stress or whatever’d be the resaon to cut.

It’s like you’re blindfolded, and you just keep going further and further out into the deep water and when you cut, you finally get air again.

I just think this is the best way to describe it, I’ve ever heard.
Not only because of what I just wrote, but cutting and pulling yourself out of water is just simular in so many ways.

It’s like this:

You keep getting deeper and deeper - you don’t breathe in so long. You get closer and closer to coldness, darkness and death. 
You breath. And everything just goes away. No colness. No choking or fear. Just breathing.

In our own wicked way, this feels like living, like cheating death another few seconds.

Why not the one cut?

Because as soon we’ve just taken our breath, we’re pulled under again. We might try to fight it, but there’s just only that one way - down. Drowning. Again.

And we want air again. We want to breathe, We’d like to get out of the water and stand on the beach and happily watch the sunset, but we’re already out way to deep in the water, so all we can do to survive, is get back up in the air.

So we cut again. Breath. Drown. Cut - breath. Drown. Cut a little deeper - breath a little longer.

That’s what it’s all about - survival.

So you tell me not to cut? You’re telling me to kill myself - you’re telling me to just sink down to the bottom of the ocean and let myself drown.

Alone at 2am.

Wrists band aid’ed up hiding new cuts. 

Cant sleep. Don’t want to sleep.

Should I get myself signed in the a mental hospital?

Or drink whatever alcohol, I’ve go hidden.

Draw a cigarette or whatever.

God, I’m broken. Not even in two halfs. 
(And I’m pretty sure a few pieces are missing)

Fuck my life and all of it.

I’m so fucking sorry for this mess, okay?.