Some days

Some days (and nights) it takes every ounce of strength and common sense to stop me from running a razor across my wrists or putting a bullet in my head. I hate that I feel this way, but it is something I cannot control. I cannot simply make those feelings disappear. I have been fighting them off since I was a child of five or six years old. You would think that I have gotten good at beating it back by now, but those thoughts are just as sneaky as I am strong. On certain days, it almost feels like I have met my match.