Every night before bed, I pray to God. I ask him to watch over my mother, and to send a guardian angel to guide her, as she’s gotten rather lost. She says things, she does things never used to and she doesn’t say the things or do the things that she used to. The only regularity in her life is waking at 5 am to walk the dog, feed him, sort the house and be gone around 7:30, as I do and in the evening, she returns around 6 pm by which time I’m either in the gym or at rowing and eats her dinner, studies and watches the television- we barely talk.

Most nights, I cry. I cry silently some nights, and others I scream out and howl, as if there’s a demon inside me being slowly freed, from the depths of my lungs, clearing my clouded conscience. I open the window in the dead of night and simply stare at the moon, allowing the moonlight to illuminate my pale face and make my red eyes sore and the cold to sink into my lungs, to tighten my chest and chill me thoroughly. My dog lays on the floor asleep and blissfully unaware on his pile of pillows and duvet; his legs move as if he’s running and he barks softly, under his breath. He looks so utterly peaceful and happy.

Then I draw the curtains shut and close the window in its’ hinge. In the darkness, I seek out the familiarity of my happy place; I don’t use my hands to feel and the moonlight has long since left my bedroom so I don’t use my eyes either. I know the room well enough to only need my fingers to gently pry open the drawer on my jewellery cabinet and to remove the razor from the third drawer down. My fingers gently trace the circular handle as I close it again, getting slower and my feet turn on the spot and I’m staring at my bedroom wall.

I reach out a hand to touch the wall which is braced with the cold of the night time breeze which hit it moments ago, and my fingers run between every photograph, every memory displayed before me and I apologise to every face I see, because I’m not the person they think I am; I’m not the person I wish I was, nor will I ever make them proud to have known me. So, I sit silently on my bed, as the springs creak to accommodate for my weight and I look my best friend in our favourite photo in the eye…

I tell her I love her, I tell her she gave me life like I never knew, I tell her she was the only thing keeping me alive. I apologise because I hurt her when I cut or burnt or scolded, I apologise because she gave more than I could ever give. I show her my arms and say to her:

“Look, honey. Look how clean they began to look. I started to look half normal. Remember the day when it was too hot and I forgot I was wearing a short sleeve t-shirt because it didn’t burn so much and I took off my jumper and you just looked at me? I felt your heart sink, as I let your fragile heart drop from my hands where I had kept it so safe for so long, as I sheltered you. I felt the despair welling in your heart and I felt it reach your eyes and I knew the pain of with holding the tears.

And after that, I stopped wearing short tops and you were the only one that noticed- I only saw you every six weeks or so, but you somehow knew I was different and when we hugged at Waterloo station, you’d rub my back like my mother did to soothe me when I was young, as if to tell me it’s alright, I’m safe once more.

But, tonight won’t be the night I stop cutting, and I’m sorry. You’ll think I’m not, but I am, I promise.

Because I don’t want to be here tomorrow… Can’t we run away? Anywhere except here, please.

But, that’s not going to happen. And  I’m sorry.

I wish I could show you Rome, or Greece, because it would have been perfect, and maybe I will. I just don’t know right now.

Sweet dreams.”

The tears bead and roll once more on my un-moisturised cheeks. I lift it to my skin, on my stomach or my legs, the tears subside and I let the blood run for a while, before squeezing a towel tight onto the cut.

I ask God if he’ll take me tonight, or maybe even tomorrow. If it’ll be quick and painless, or if I have to suffer to pay for giving up so soon. I ask if he’ll just let me think I fell asleep that night and never woke up, and whether he’ll allow my mother some peace. Whether he’ll keep her here a little longer to love my brother and see him into adulthood, and then let her drift away calmly when her time comes.

My head rests in my hands, as I rub my temples. A headache takes effect and I roll over to lay on my side, cuddling my teddy. I beg him that tonight was the last time and I read over the letter to my best friend and each one to every person I love and I sob gently as hopefully, tonight was the last time.

I fall asleep soon after.