The Alternate
I call her the alternate. The version of me that hates me and wants me to die, that is. She's still me, but I know she lies. It's not not me, but it's also not me. It's difficult to explain. I don't have any dissociative identity disorders, so I know she's still me. She wants me dead and I honestly don't blame her. I actually agree with everything she says, despite knowing it's all lies. I would like to say I think I should die, but I know I should die. But I am a stubborn bitch and if depression wants to take me down I will slow it down in any way I can. I cut again, three days in a row. I had made it a week without it, but everything just got to be too much. It feels like my life is falling apart in front of me and I have no idea why or how to stop it. Cutting is like pressing your fingernail into the area around a papercut to distract yourself with a more bearable pain. Or sometimes I deserve the pain. It always feels good. I don't want t...
