You amuse me annonymous commenter. What amuses me is how seriously you take all this. Its a fucking story. Its not true. And what amuses me most is how you think i give a fuck about what you say. 'Loser.Why dont u just put the knife in your vein and fuckin rip it up,insted of putting tiny cat scratches on your arm to bring attention to urself.' Its a fucking story. I dont actually self harm. 'You dont undastand jak shit bout wat any1 feels. ur a self scentred piece of shit' I understand as much as i need or want to understand, and its nice to kow you can make assumptions about what i'm like from a story. 'What kind of a sick fucked up story is this.your writing is shit.do spell check more often.and sort your word order out' Yes its a bit sick and fucked up, if you dont like it, dont fucking read it. You can hardly talk about correct spelling. And again. I dont give a fuck what you think about it. 'ur so fukin pesimistic.shes not dead,she probs wont die of "attempted suicide".go see a shrink if u think ur depressed.and if u havnt got reason to...' I know she's not dead, she's my best friend, i think i'd notice something like that. I dont think i'm depressed and have never claimed to be. pay attention. 'then rip ur fukin vein out' Learn to spell fucking you lazy sod So basically, whatever you were trying to acheive through those comments, you really havent. They made me laugh. Sorry love :)

The blackness closed in around me, just like in the movies. I felt my neck buckle and my head collapse, and then the bump as I fell back onto my bed. The blade was still in my hand. I knew I shouldn’t have stopped myself falling. But I was paralysed. And the blackness was so inviting. Within moments there were people surrounding me, people in white coats, people with clipboards, people with authority. They stood around me, some sat on my bed, some stood over me, some sat on me, holding me down. Their eyes were sunken into their heads and glowed red. And there was something about them which let me know they were evil, a frighteningly satanic presence. And as they stood there, others arrived, gliding towards their prey - towards me. They stood around me in silence, just watching me; my body shook, my insides churned. And as I lay there I realised, they were not people. I tried to scream, but found my mouth was gagged. As I opened my mouth I tasted the sickly flesh of the hand, which squeezed ever tighter around my mouth, the other around my neck. Soon there were millions of the creatures surrounding me. They looked dead, but I knew they would have no trouble hurting me. My breathing was irregular, deep and desperate as I furiously begged my surroundings for oxygen. But each breath filled my mouth and lungs with stale, disgusting air, which I felt infecting my throat and made me gag. My eyes filled with tears, but as they were released, the world turned red, and my eyes stung. Tears of blood flowed rapidly down my face, and as they touched the creature’s hand, he smiled, bearing rows of pointed black teeth, stained with the blood of thousands of other helpless victims. As my eyes swelled up with another iron tear, momentarily blinding me, I was aware of something new, someone new. I blinked the tear away and saw my P.E teacher standing by the side of the bed. My heart fluttered with hope; maybe she would save me, maybe she would get rid of the haunting animals around me. But as I focused on her, I saw she was just like them, pale skin and red, sunken eyes, surrounded by the stench of death. Suddenly she struck out and grabbed my left arm, and gripped it, and squeezed it, and dug her nails into my flesh. My body was overrun with pain, I tried to scream, if only as a natural reflex, but the hands squeezed tighter. ‘Here it is’ she hissed. Her voice was physically painful to my ears; it wasn’t loud, but full of hate and disgust. She spoke from the back of her throat and spat in my face. The creatures moved forward, their eyes widened. And in unison they let out a screaming, terrifying cry. A cry of laughter. They threw their heads back, and I saw inside their mouths was pitch black. They laughed endlessly, a shrieking, relentless roar. ‘What the fuck have you done here then?’ one of them shouted out, pulling my arm, almost out of it’s socket, and examining the open wounds with a horrifying combination of disgust and perverted pleasure. Immediately the laughter stopped, and I was left whimpering and crying. I saw the creatures head turn, and he brought his face millimetres from mine. The air I inhaled was his dirty, exhaled breath. ‘Don’t worry’ he whispered with mock concern, tilting his head and moving it like a snake, ‘We’ll look after you… just like we looked after your friend Kelli.’ As he said this he gestured behind him, the crowd turned to see two creatures walking by, parading Kelli’s broken, bloodied, beaten corpse. Her wrists and ankles were tied to a pole, which they carried either end of, like two proud hunters, returning with their kill. Instantly the creatures lurched towards it. And the bloodcurdling laughter only just masked the sound of them tearing through her with their teeth and eating every last scrap of her pathetic body.

Now they were definitely looking at me. I knew it, and they knew I knew. But that was just what they wanted. They all wanted to hurt me. Like some kind of sick joke. They all wanted me to be scared, and they knew looking at me would do the trick. And they all knew about my arm. They all knew about the hit. And they were loving it. ‘You feeling better?’ my friend said to me when I saw her. ‘What?’ I replied, surely she knew. Everyone knew. ‘Mrs Humphreys told us you went home cos you were sick….So…are you feeling better?’ she said, with an almost patronising tone. She was lying. I knew it. She must have been. But maybe I could play along anyway. Maybe if I could convince other people it wasn’t true, I could convince myself. ‘Yeah, a bit better,’ I lied ‘my stomach was just killing me yesterday, you know, cramps and all that.’ And she took it. She believed it. That’s what happened, I was ill, yeah, I was ill, I had cramps, so I went home. That was it. But as soon as I got back into the corridor I knew I was wrong. Louise might have believed it; she might still be ignorant. But everyone else knew. They did. She had obviously missed the rumour somehow. So again everyone was looking at me. I pulled my sleeves over my hands and kept my head down. I couldn’t make eye contact with anyone, they would find out more. They would hate me more. They would beat me and laugh at me. Everyone wanted to laugh at the depressed girl. I ran to the toilets and cried. No one ever came to the year 10 toilets, thank God. I sat on the top of the seat and reached into my bag. I felt the blade cold and metallic between my fingertips. My beauty. It would help. It would make everyone go away, make the world go away. I could be myself again. But I didn’t need it. You never need it. Never. It would help. But it wasn’t necessary. I told Kelli that so many times. I couldn’t go back on that now. I didn’t need it. Yes I wanted it, but I never needed it. All the fucking times she told me that she needed to cut, she had to start again, she had to. Fucking bull. It was a selfish, hollow addiction, she wanted it, cos in some twisted way it made her feel better. No matter how much it hurt other people. I wasn’t hurting anyone else. I was being selfish. I didn’t need it. But I wanted it. More than anything, I wanted it.

I was marched to the head teacher and my parents were called. I sat in Mrs Patrick’s office, surrounded by adults, talking more about me than to me. I felt so small. What had the SH driven me to do now? It was like it took hold of me, I had never felt so protective. Yes there was the physical pain of her actually touching me, but somehow there was more to it than that. Like her hand was made of some corrosive chemical. She had invaded me, invaded my body more than I thought was possible. Kelli’s left arm was all that had destroyed me, now my left arm was all I had keeping me going. It was a gut instinct to get her off it. I knew she couldn’t have felt anything, not through my jumper, now a permanent part of my uniform. But there was something in me that knew she could not touch it. It wasn’t my body anymore, it was my canvas, my lifeline, mine to destroy as I wished; and she could not touch it. The adults stared, muttered and schemed. Twittering about how I had dome something unforgivable and that expulsion from the school was a perfectly liable option. They were coming closer and closer to the idea until someone, my mind was blank as to whom, reminded the committee about Kelli. I couldn’t believe that they had overlooked it, but they had, and now that was the one thing that was going to save me. They sighed and ‘aahhed’ and concluded that I had been badly affected by the ‘traumatic experience’ and that under normal circumstances, I would never have done such a thing. ‘Why did you do it?’ asked my mum when we got out, ‘I don’t know’ I replied weakly and turned away. I couldn’t think of an excuse, and I couldn’t tell her the truth. ‘Come on love, you can tell me’. She was wrong. I couldn’t tell her. I never talked to her. I couldn’t tell her about this. Never. I looked down and bit my lip. That meant no and she knew it. She reached around me to give me a hug, the simplest form of affection, the most peaceful act I knew. And I flinched violently and moved my arm away. ‘What’s wrong love?’ she said, almost a whisper. ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’ ‘Nothing’ I snapped instinctively. She saw through it straight away, and she pushed it and pushed it and forced me to show her. Soon she was on the phone to a counsellor, and I was in bed, crying. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ please comment y'all. i'm bored of the big 0s.

I hung my head and shielded my arms as I walked into the councillor’s room. Some girl in my class had seen my arm and decided I needed help. But I didn’t. SH helped me, it was my friend. She wouldn’t take another friend away from me, would she? She spoke to me about how I felt, expecting me to answer. I didn’t. I mumbled and grunted and took advantage of the way she said ‘if you don’t want to tell me something just shake your head’. This wasn’t me. This was Kelli. She talked and talked, the words blurring around me, a lost muddle of empty promises, empty emotion and empty help. She came too close to me, invaded my space, patted my knee and asked to see my arm. She didn’t really care about me; I knew she didn’t. ‘Cause she didn’t even know me, all she knew was that I had cuts on my arm and my friend had died a month ago. Her eyes were fixed on me, like she was trying to penetrate my skin, into my pain and loss. I didn’t want this; her interest scared me, I didn’t want her near me. She leered at me, looking down on me. She wasn’t inwardly sympathetic, I was nothing new to her, just another depressed teenager. I chewed my sleeve and shook my head. Why did she have to sit so close? The next day, everyone was looking at me. Every eye, every stare, on my arm. My friends told me they weren’t, they told me I was being paranoid, but I wasn’t. They were all looking at me. They were. They didn’t want me there; I was just bringing them down. I was the odd one out and I was contaminating their air. They stared and stared, their eyes never left me. I walked down a corridor and every head turned. Even people I had never seen before, they had all seen me, they all knew about my arm and they all hated me as much as I hated myself. They pushed me deliberately and trod on my feet. They all wanted to cause me pain, they knew I couldn’t handle it; they knew I would cry and cut and that was just what they wanted. And just to top it all off, I had swimming. I couldn’t swim, not with my arm in the state it was. I couldn’t let anyone else see, especially not the teacher. I told her I had my period and turned to go back into the changing room. But she wouldn’t listen. The stupid cow wouldn’t listen. She told me it wasn’t a good enough excuse, and I should sort myself out and get in the pool. But I couldn’t. I refused and she wouldn’t listen. She took me away, to her office, tried to make me explain, but I wouldn’t. She told me that I would definitely be swimming the next week and again I said no. And she just wouldn’t shut up. She went on and on about how important swimming was, and that no petty excuse of mine was good enough. I turned away from her, ready to walk out, and she grabbed my arm to turn me back. Her grip so tight, right across the previous nights cuts. I span around and screamed, and hit her across the face. No one touched my arm. No one.

This was it now; the self-harm was part of me. Just as I had rejected and scorned Kelli, so I scorned myself. But I didn’t care how much I hated it; it helped. If I hurt myself no one else could hurt me. If I hurt myself on the outside, the hurt on the inside couldn’t affect me anymore. If I could hurt myself I could finally understand Kelli, even if it was too late. I could finally make myself pay for being such a shit friend. Soon it was Kelli's birthday. And no one even noticed. I wasn’t feeling too bad that day, I smiled and tried to put it all out of my mind, for Kelli; she always enjoyed her birthday, she wouldn’t want me to be sad for it or because of it. I didn’t feel the intense heat and pressure pushing on me all the time, for once. It was as if the cutting had released it. So much had been trapped inside me, all negative emotions pressing against my skin from the inside. And every day it built up more and more and every night I released it. This day I smiled. I didn’t allow the emotions to seep back in…or so I thought. I was convinced that smiling would stop me getting down, stop me thinking, stop the pain. But it couldn’t. When I got home everything fell apart. The date on the calendar stared at me and taunted me. I could do nothing to forget that it was Kelli’s day, but she wasn’t even there. And no one else had even bothered to think about it. And I hadn’t even bothered to remind them. I had smiled and I had been happy. When it was my best friend’s birthday, and she was dead. What the fuck was I? This time I didn’t need to think about what to do. This time I probably didn’t even need it. There wasn’t the pressure inside. But I did it anyway, I took the blade and I cut my arm. Deeper than I had before. I didn’t need it, no one ever needed it, at least that’s what I had always believed, I didn’t even really want it, but I did it anyway. It had helped before, so it would help today. That was the true start of my downfall. When SH was no longer a desperate, fumbling mistake. It was a conscious habit, an addiction, it was more than just releasing the pressure, it was letting it in too. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t shake. And not once did I think ‘what am I doing?’ This was fine, this was making it better, and this would never, ever leave me.

How long would it take to heal? I just wanted it all to go away. I would have PE soon, everyone would see it, and I’d be sent to Ms Fallow’s office, just like Kelli was so many times. She’d be taken away, asked to meet her at lunchtime, she never told me why. But it always seemed like everyone else did. People would come up and talk to her about ‘something’ in private, which of course, when I asked was always ‘nothing’. How ever many times she said I was her best friend, I couldn’t quite believe it. I wasn’t that important to her. Not as important as her friends online. The people from SH websites who would go out and get pissed and stoned to try and fade out their worthless sorrows because they could never be strong enough to actually stop them. And smoking, fucking smoking; as if they weren’t doing enough to kill themselves. Kelli kept that a secret even longer than the SH, but I always knew, I tried not to think that badly of her, but I knew her too well, anything to rebel and give her the smallest hollow kick. She knew how much I hated it, but that meant nothing to her, just reinforced the need to hide it from me. I wondered what those ‘friends’ would be thinking now. She probably told them, left them a suicide note, gave them a chance to change her mind. Like I said, I was never that important to her. There was always someone else to talk to before me; because I didn’t understand? Because I hated it so much? Now I fucking understood, if only she could see me now… Thinking didn’t help, thinking made me feel worse. It pulled up every last emotion, everything I had ever felt for Kelli, and that hurt. It didn’t take long for me to start thinking about the blade. I’d done it once, what difference would one more time make? I went to the bathroom, picked up the blade and cut again into my arm. And again, yes, it helped.

The next day, all I could think about was my arm. I was so scared of someone seeing it. Either they would tell someone, or just think I was seeking attention. That was always my immediate reaction. When I saw someone with cuts, flaunting them, as if it was something cool; even if someone accidentally showed a cut, I would still start thinking so much worse of them. I had no idea how much they must have been hurting to do it. When Kelli first told me about her SH, I told her it was stupid, she was attention seeking and she should just stop. I was so ignorant, stupid. But more than that, I wanted her to stop so badly, hearing about it made me feel like complete shit, I knew she was unhappy, but not to that extent. I needed her to stop, she was my best friend, no one likes to see a friend in pain, and it’s what I had to cope with every day for years. But I couldn’t do anything about it, if I asked her to stop, she would either say she ‘couldn’t’ or would pretend she had. So many times she promised me she had stopped or at least was trying, then the next day I would see new cuts. Somewhere, I hated her for lying to me, and I hated myself for hating her, I was too ignorant and selfish to realise that she was truly hurting and I wasn’t helping one bit. Of course I never showed how much it made me dislike her, I could never tell her, and I could never say a harsh word to her. I was scared of what she could do to herself. And I loved her so much, seeing her hurt felt like I was being ripped inside, so many nights I cried, praying for it to stop. Above all the hate, all the fear, all the despair, Kelli was still my very best friend, and I could not bear seeing her in so much pain. I had no one to care for me, to want me to heal, to pray for me. I was on my own, against everyone else, every pair of eyes that gazed at me, every person that would see my arm, every person that would see my tears. And I knew they would have the same immediate reaction as me, and I couldn’t blame them for that. But just like I had no idea, they wouldn’t know a thing about how Kelli’s death was burning me, eating away at me inside, I couldn’t move on, she was too close to me, and this pain would always be there.

A couple of people have asked me whether this story is true or fiction, so i will answer. basically kelli represents a friend of mine. she hasnt commited suicide, but she has attempted it. the story is what i think i would do if she had died from her attempts, if it talks about anything in the past then that will be true. also any references to self harm will be based on personal experience. more chapters should be coming soon. please comment. x~X~x

I stumbled to the bathroom and grabbed for a razor, I shook and cried as I tried to break it apart. This was it; this was what had kept Kelli going for so long. Finally the blade was there, sharp, gleaming. I took it to my arm and cut in rage. And the more I did, the more I hated myself because….it felt good. Why was it only now that Kellie was dead that I could understand her, understand why she did it and why it helped? I was too late though. Was this it now? Was this how Kelli felt, every day? My blood flowed, dark and thick. It was horrible. How could this be helping me? What the fuck was I doing? How on earth could it be the one thing I hate could be feeling this good? I felt so free, for a short while I could forget that I had lost my best friend. Eventually I stopped crying, it hurt too much to cry, I remembered things that Kelli had said about it feeling numb; this didn’t, this hurt, like hell, stinging. But not as much as I hurt inside. I remembered I once promised myself that I would never cut, it was worthless, and it ruined people. I swore that no matter how hard it got I would never turn to self harm. What a hypocrite. I hated myself but I needed to do it, I needed to bring that razor into my arm, hard and fast, I pushed as hard as I could, as if getting rid of the blood would get rid of the pain, the longing, the self hate. I missed Kelli so much, I missed her and I loved her. Why did this have to happen to me? From then on I knew that I would never be the same, I would depend on blades, on seeing the blood, I would become addicted just like Kelli, and it would be the end of me.

A few weeks back at school and things were getting back to normal. The sympathetic looks in the corrigors and gasps at the mantioning of my name, the long painful hugs and being let off homework had all ended. i had rejoined my friends ant managed to laugh again sometimes. But i still missed Keli. I always would. I wasnt strong enough for this, losing my best friend. it always sounded so cheesy but i really felt like a part of me was gone, had died along with her. We were so close, and i felt as if i would never get over this. I was falling. Falling into a life without her; life knowing I had done something so wrong, been such terrible friend that she would rather die that talk to me. One day after school, i came home to find a policeman at my door. He said they had found a letter amongst Kelli's things, for me. i couldnt speak. I nodded and ran to my ped where i opened it, my hands shaking. Mel, I'm so sorry. I know you dont believe me but i am. I love you so much. I no that if you are reading this then I'm... its the way it has to be, i cant live anymore, there is too much pain to make life worth living. if there was a way to do this without hurting you i would, anything. I never wan to hurt you, but i know you'll be better off without me. You've done so much for me and all I've done is fuck up your life. Cos thats what i am, a fuck up, and i dont deserve to be alive. You're the only person i'm writing to, yo're the only one that deserves it. Please. Know that im sorry. dont hate me. Please. I couldnt stand it if you hated me I'm sorry Goodbye Keli I cried, sharp salty tears. But crying wasnt enough...

This was it. My first day back at school. And I was truly dreading it. It was obvious that everyone knew about Kelli by now, I’d received quite a few texts from people I no longer knew saying that they were sorry. But nothing helped. Mrs Patrick, bitch head teacher had probably made an overstated announcement in assembly when she found out, and told everybody to bow their heads and pray for Kelli and her family and friends. And now I had to face it all. The journey to school was so empty. I was shaking for the whole hour. Missing Kelli, every little thing I saw reminded me of her. I had rarely travelled alone in the past 4 years at our school. I sat on the train. In a corner, I turned up my music to full volume in my ears, each word reminding me of Kelli to. The journey dragged on and on. I remembered awkward journeys where we had sat in complete silence because Kelli was obviously upset and there was nothing I could do, if I asked her what was wrong she would shrug and say nothing. If only those lies and cover-ups were true. We would just sit there, both of us in pain, every possibility running through my head about why she was upset, what had she done? I got to school and immediately I felt every gawping eye upon me, whispers as I walked past, people avoiding me, avoiding eye contact. I sat at the very back of registration, the form tutor whispered my name when she reached me in the register, I responded and shrieked almost sympathetic gasps came from the members of the class who obviously hadn’t noticed me. None of them really knew Kelli, not the real Kelli anyway; I suspected that most of them didn’t even notice she had gone. The lessons drew on, people staring, asking questions, but I couldn’t speak, it was as if my voice, my identity, my life had died along with Kelli. I just wanted it all to end. At lunch time Ms Fallow, deputy head came to find me, along with the school nurse. I knew they were going to come and stick there nose in, make me tell them ‘how I was feeling’; ask me why they thought Kelli would have killed herself. I knew exactly why. But I wouldn’t tell them, I wouldn’t tell anyone. The came and marched me to Fallows office where we sat on hard chairs. They leaned in towards me, their eyes wide open, as if they were trying to see into my head. I tried my very hardest not to cry in front of them, whatever they said, they treated Kelli like a thing, an object, now non-existent, like a specimen in a laboratory. When I got home I felt like a limp, pathetic nobody who everybody knew about but didn’t know. I collapsed in my bed and cried. Cried for Kelli, cried to Kelli, hoped that she would see how much she was hurting me. I could never see an end to the pain. Was this what I would have to live with…for the rest of my life?

For days vicious memories swallowed up my thoughts. I thought back to the days when I could help Kelli, or at least I thought I could. I remembered the first time I found about her self harm and suicidal inclinations. It was a week after my 13th birthday. I was lying in bed, Evanescence at full blast in my ears to occupy my mind as I drifted off to sleep. I felt my phone vibrate under my pillow, the backlight still managing to flood the shadowy room. I opened the text and read it. At first I thought I was dreaming. ‘Mel, help me. Say something to me. I want to kill myself. I’m sitting here with pills and blades, if you don’t say something soon I'm going to do it. I can’t take it anymore. Please just say something. Kelli x’ I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I knew Kelli wasn’t happy, but I never thought she would go as far as suicide. My hands shook. My head emptied, what was I meant to say? I quickly did the only thing I knew how to, I begged her. I cried and begged her not to do it. I told her I loved her, told her I didn’t know what I would do without her. I felt so insignificant, lost. I sent the text, still crying. I wanted to talk to someone, I needed help, I couldn’t cope with this kind of thing, I was weak, helpless and I knew it. I texted Matt. He was one of my very best friends, four years older than me, and the loveliest person I knew. It was my first instinct to ask him what to do. He was suicidal once, something I had never talked about with him, but he had been bullied for years, and he was all ready to give everything up when he became a Christian, and this was something I wholly admired and respected him for. I asked him what to do, said that my friend was about to attempt suicide and that I needed help, desperately. The rest of the night was a blur. Every text from Kelli made me feel worse, made me realise that I could help even less. Every text from Matt making me feel infinitely better. I knew that without him I would have been nothing, Kelli would have died a long time ago. At about three o’clock I had begun to panic, Kelli hadn’t replied to my last message, not for over half an hour. I could only fear the very worse. I called her and called her, never did she pick up the phone. I ran to my sister’s room, somehow I felt I could tell her. I tried to explain, but she couldn’t understand me through my sobs. Matt told me that I if I really thought she had finally caved in that I should get an adult involved, but advised me that she had probably gone to sleep and that I should too. So I did; crying, shaking, screaming in my head, I slept. Little did I know that this, the most desperate and horrifying night I had ever experienced, was only the very beginning of the hardest, cruellest, most depressing year of my life.

just thought i should apologise incase anything i write in here offends anyone. it is a story based on my life and views, but i dont want that to offend any1 hu reads it. please do read my story, its not very long and id realy like some feed back. thanx x~X~x

I always knew that should these days come there would be one thing I would think incessantly: ‘why?’ And it was true. Over and over again in my head the same word resounded. The same pitch, the same droning sound. And each time I heard it, I had to think of a new excuse. I felt as if I was falling into the fearsome depression that had wrecked Kelli’s life for so long. Her death still made no sense to me, I didn’t – no, couldn’t understand it. The way she was taken from me at a time when so many horizons still lay waiting for her, for us to discover was an injustice I could never neither understand nor accept. How could it happen? I thought everything was going to be alright, how stupid could I be? Nothing could fix the eternal shreds in Kelli’s heart; nothing could return her life to the way she once knew it. Even when she was older, when she had moved out of her house, she would still have the scars, the relentless disfigurements which had somehow brought her pleasure once. Coating her arms and legs. Each day I would see knew scrapes and cuts, and I would collapse inside. Every slash the harshest reminder of what a failure I had grown to be, how I made such a pathetic affect, how she could ignore me to the point of engaging with my enemy, enjoying it, wanting it more. She didn’t care about me, not truthfully. And I would always hate myself for that. She would always say ‘my friends are everything to me’ and ‘I would do anything to make you happy’ but obviously ‘everything’ wasn’t enough, ‘anything’ didn’t include giving up; it didn’t include sacrificing whatever twisted satisfaction she gained from it, just to make my world, and the worlds of anyone who knew infinitely better. She had apparently given up before, but nothing was good enough for me, after seeing her suffer for an entire year - hearing her cry down the phone, hearing that she had gone two weeks without using the blade felt like nothing. I visited countless self harm help sites, every one said that I should be caring, not put any pressure on her, not be negative; but I just hated it so much, I couldn’t face being positive towards it. I really hated it. From deep within me. Anything good about it was incomprehensible me. I wouldn’t wish self harm on anyone, not even the person I detested the most. It was my enemy, it was what I fought against, it was what I loathed…and it was what she chose, over me.

:( Pleas comment i dnt rly care wot u say but iv only got 1 so far. *cries* x~X~x

My head was such a mess. Always finding the most awkward place, somehow managing to feel overflowing and yet completely devoid of any thought. To begin with I longed for the nights, the rare occasions that I could force myself to abandon the thoughts and sleep; only then could I rest, I could forget about it all, the nights were the same as they had been before Kelli’s death, it didn’t exist when I was asleep, it didn’t need to. Every night: silent, peaceful, understanding. But eventually the peace was no longer there, each time I drifted away, the same terrorizing nightmare shook my dreams. Kelli was always there, and so was I, but I could not touch her, couldn’t talk to her, she could not see me, hear me; to her I did not exist. And she was sitting there, on her bed, a razor blade in her left hand, cutting, slicing through her arm as I knew she had done every night when she was alive. Then next to her were pills, hundreds, and she was ready to take them. The doctors had said that that was the cause of her death, a mixture of overdose and blood loss…I knew that Kelli couldn’t have handled another failed attempt. And in my dream I could do nothing, I had to sit and watch her first do the one thing I truly hate, the thing that I knew had caused so much of her pain, self harm, and then finally she killed herself. She took all the pills, one after the other, as if it was the most important thing, as if it would cure everything, hold all the answers, and then, the affects of the pills already showing, she pushed harder into her arm than ever before, by this time she was lying in her bed, ready to curl up and feel her world ending, feel all her problems being solved, feel what it was to die. Her blood poured from her arm, she cried and cried, I could see her pain, I could feel it – and still do nothing. Every night there was one cut, one time when she pushed the hardest, in exactly the right place; her scream ripped my heart, her bed sheets soaked with blood, rich red, all around her, the last thing she would see, a world of pain and blood. And every night, I cried to her, screamed to her, begged her to stop, ran to her and shook her shoulders, tried to drag the blade away from her, but I just fell through her, she was oblivious to my efforts, my screaming, my pain. Somehow every night something in me thought that this was the night I would stop it, this would be the night that she would hear me, she would stop and come to me and hug me and say that she never wanted to do it again. But it never happened, every night was the same. No time or distance could lessen the frequency of my nightmares, nor soften the jabbing pain of the reality they reinforced.

The mornings, both the easiest and hardest parts of the day. For a few minutes in that disturbing time between awake and asleep I managed to forget about Kelli, somehow she just wasn’t there, wasn’t included in my thoughts. But then there was always the result of that, remembering again, as bad as the first time I heard. And it was the same every single morning. I woke up, lay there, remembered and then started crying, often for hours and hours, just thinking of how I missed my chance, how I was so utterly useless that she had given up everything. It took me all the strength I had just to get out of bed to face everything, everyone. But even when I did get up I still had absolutely no energy. My parents really were walking on eggshells around me, I couldn’t bring myself to actually tell them, couldn’t find the words; they knew nothings of my struggles with Kelli, nothing. They thought I was the happy cheery girl I was before I found out about her, that disastrous night. But I could tell my sister, just, and I did, I just walked into her room, and as blankly as I could, to avoid crying, said 'Kelli, she...she commited suicide last night, she's dead, tell mum and dad and plase dont talk to me' then walked back to my room, where I promptly started crying again. They did let me stay home from school; I couldn’t bear to face anyone. They didn’t mention Kelli to me, just treated me like they did when I was ill, letting me lie endlessly on the sofa, looking at the television but not really watching it, spontaneously bursting into tears. Of course they said that I ‘could talk to them at anytime’ but I didn’t feel like speaking to anyone, I would only have mumbled incomprehensible words, and then started crying again. I felt so weak, I no Kelli wouldn’t have wanted me to cry…

I slammed the phone down, ran to my room, locked the door and cried manically into my pillow. This was nothing new to me, I had cried many times before, most of those times over Kelli. But somehow this was different. These tears just felt so worthless, illogical and untrue. Somehow any other time I had cried, it would have felt meaningful, as if the tears would accomplish something, as if she would see my tears and change her ways. But she never did. She knew how much pain I was in, seeing her destroy herself, then making excuses for it. I had done everything I could; she was beyond my help….beyond my control. I didn’t know what to do, how was I going to tell people? My parents? There are just some words that aren’t meant to be said. For a second my mind slipped, to whether or not I would get any time off school for this. For a few minutes I did all I could to hate myself, how could I be so bloody selfish? I wanted to tell someone, I wanted to tell everyone, but I still didn’t want anyone to know. I tried to stop thinking, to block it all out, pretend it hadn’t happened. I lay there for hours until eventually I fell asleep the same way I had done many nights before, crying.

'It’s Kelli' I heard 'she's dead, she committed suicide last night'. My world stopped. Everything held in time, so still. 'But...' was all I managed to say. This was my worst nightmare come true. I looked at my free hand, I was shaking. I could feel my mind spinning, stirring over the last two years. I was no longer ‘the girl with a depressed, self harming best friend’ I was ‘the girl whose best friend committed suicide’. From this point onwards I had no best friend. She was gone. I had thought about this day so many times, I never thought it would actually come. The day when I would never see her again. The day when the last thing I said to her would be ‘see you tomorrow’, but I never would. How could she have just said nothing? Not even goodbye. Not giving me the chance to talk her out of it as I had before. I thought I meant more to her than that...