I tried to cut my wrist... both arms... in a way that won't lead to death...
It's not the first time I tried to do that. I think I want to just experience the feeling of committing suicide. I didn't really want to die.
But it also didn't mean that I was not depressed. I felt so depressed that I just believed that killing myself is the only way to get through the pain.
My father was never nice to me. People told me the relationship with your father represent the relationship you project on your lover. I guess it has to be true. So when it comes to the moment, I felt helpless I just naturally pick up the sicor and cut my wrist. It was not sharp enough to make me succeed. I got some funny wounds. The next day, they looked even more different. The wounds seemed so tiny and light. They looked more like scratches from a cat or something. I could not connect it with my suicide crazy behaviour but find it very ironic and shamed.
In the subway, I am the only person who is wearing long sleeves. Suddenly, I notice a person sitting in front of me with a huge scar on his arm. I try to figure how he got it. From a fight? Or an accident. He looks decent. Maybe it's his attempts on suicide commitment. A very strange day, one after another. People in the subway stepped on me and pushed me around. They also apologised right after they did so and comforted my feeling in a very strange way.
The end of that day, I received a dying rose from a grocery man.