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Trigger

The clock was about to strike 12. It was a silent, cold night. She was home alone. With her heavy head she looked herself in the mirror with her swollen eyes and messed hair. Knowing that she could hold on tight until her temptation was to fall for a long time and leave a dreadful scar behind, her sadness embed her fragile heart. She locks herself. Opens her drawer and takes out a scissor. She slid her wrist. Her entire world stood still as she felt numb. She lied in a corner resisting the inevitable pain. She screamed so loud until her scratchy throat made her breathing difficult. She was on the floor for hours crying and sobbing restlessly drinking a bottle of vodka. She sliced open her artery. She didn’t want to live. She searched for a single reason why she wanted to live, but she didn’t deserve to. She was disgusted on herself and wanted to end it all. She felt no pain. She calmed herself down, as her sleeping pill made her dizzy and put her to bed on the floor. She was out for 20 hours. There was blood and puke everywhere when she got into sense. Her wrist was drenched with dry blood. Knowing that it was another bad day she sobers herself and cleans before taking a puff.



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