First Time

It was a Wednesday evening, clock ticked in its usual pace. There was a certain rush that had engulfed me and I, a mere human, had no way of relieving myself from the remnants of the lost past. There was fear, I remember, of breaking down to the core and not be proper again. The fear so strong, it made my heart sink, every time that I looked in the mirror. Sinking and sinking, I sunk down the hole of despair and darkness, ran through the people I had left but nothing came for rescue. Tried screaming, running, exercising, walking, lying down. Anxiety getting the better of me is when I found. I found relief and heartbreak. I found comfort and devastation. I found content and dejection. I found life and death, yet I was happy. The first time that I wrote, I discovered that there were ways other than self harm to let go of the pain and yet there was a way to die a thousand deaths and live thousand more lives. I knew I could die but realized I could bleed too.