Every hour, every minute, every second of every day the thoughts of slicing my skin take over my mind. The sting. There's something so satisfying about the pain. Watching my wrist cry for the help I've been aching for. The way my eyes plead with me to look away but I never do. Powerful strokes to ensure the pain lasts. I'm riddled with scars - Scars that all have different meanings. These scars never go away. Constant reminders of the person I am - the person who I became. I don't do this for you to see. I do this for me. I long to be close with death. I long to feel anything at all. I promised I'd stop. I promised. I know there are people out there who love me. But I can't. The pain holds me in it's arms, and caresses me like my mother never did. It's the only thing I know won't leave. The only thing that remains constant. I wish the physical pain would never end. There's not a day that I don't drown my sorrows in vodka, or wish I were dead. I do. I wish I could. But I can't leave my sister behind. No. Not with her. I don't want her to be like me. That's why I always turned my mother away from my sister's wrong doings, and took the fall. I took the abuse. I tried asking for help once. Twice. I was ignored. I'm nothing to anyone. Even the one person who called the cops on a suicide attempt has severed ties with me. I just want someone to care. Someone able to stay by my side no matter what. No, I don't mean a lover. I need a friend. But, how do you tell someone what's wrong with you? I tried telling someone recently. I hinted at what I did to my wrists. They told me all I wanted was attention. Why can't anyone see I'm desperate for help? I can't take it anymore. I know I can't kill myself - I need to protect my sister, but the feelings won't stop. I promised I wouldn't do anything, but oh how I want to.