CHAPTER 1: Black Holes

 A Teen’s Perspective

⚠️Trigger warning: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of self-harm (blood).⚠️

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The familiar feeling snakes its way upward yet again. After being on edge for so long, it seems my very soul has started cascading into the depths of this black hole. Empty dizziness combined with the lack of energy to move a single muscle- to even breathe! I’m scared. I close my eyes to shut out the assault of sheer panic, but of course, it doesn’t work. There’s this sense of foreboding that something will hurt me- I will hurt me. I don't know what to do! I’m unable to shake off this feeling of dread. The feeling that I need to be rescued… rescued from none other than myself. 

I aimlessly pet Floofesh, the cat, sitting next to me like a snow poff. But even that doesn’t help anymore. There’s only one way out. 

I reach for the desk drawer. It houses my only escape: a knife, which I sharpened out of a steel ruler. The numbers are still visible, like a cruel countdown of sorts. I meticulously wipe the (non-existent) dust off the cold surface. The blade glints in the lamplight, like the wily smile of a politician, offering wonderful promises of escape and liberation. My most beautiful creation, a piece of art in its own right. Honed down to a razor-thin edge. 

My skin aches to embrace the searing comfort of the steel. The blade converges with my thin wrist, staining it a cataclysmic crimson. It feels like sharp acid. Toxic but invigorating. I gasp for breath at the cold shock of the steel, but I can feel the turbulence in my mind receding, beaten back by the sharp, immediate pain in my forearm. My heart beats louder, faster. I hear it echoing off the walls. DHUB DHUB DHUB DHUB… I keep going, drawing a clean line in my red ink. I feel my nerves screaming, my primal instinct begging for an end. But the allure of the metal is too strong. I use all my energy fighting off the sweet siren song of death. So close… just move the knife a little deeper, and it’ll be over. Forever.

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