I talked with Suitcase that day, we were keeping our new 'relationship', if you would even call it that, a secret, to keep people from bullying and harassing her. I couldn't bear the thought of her being unhappy, but I'm gonna keep that from happening. I have had to go through a lot already, I don't want her going through it. I really don't think she likes me, though, but I do like her, and I'm going to protect her no matter the cost. I'm not here on this planet for myself, I'm here for others. I didn't tell her about my locker, I don't want her worrying about me. I can handle it.

Right?

Oh well,
I walk up to my door and open it, walking down to my room. I think of the words on my locker again, and they're right. I am all those things, a loser, a sad sack, an idiot. When I get to my room, I walk into the small bathroom, and open the cabinet. I grab my depression pills. I pick up one, its pale blue color calming me, and I take it. I think I'm gonna need it, I have a feeling. Next to the pills I see a razor blade. I remember when I used to cut myself, it didn't hurt though. It was odd, being able to cause pain without feeling it. I look at my boney wrist, seeing the scars from it. I don't remember there being that many. I quickly close the cabinet, telling myself no. Stop thinking of those bad times, your out of them now. Suitcase is gonna flip if I did it. Just stop. I head out of the bathroom and sit at my desk, starting to do homework, still being a bit sad from the locker incident. I felt my stomach growl, but ignored it. I occasionally looked up towards my bathroom, seeing the uninviting pale light pour out of the room. I've been eating less lately, I think it's because of the new prescription on my antidepressants, but it's no big deal. Suitcase did comment on me being really thin, though. Its nothing. Its nothing. I'm ok. I get up and head toward the bathroom, finally giving in to my mind. I guess I'll do it, even if it shatters Suitcase.

(TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM)

I open the cabinet, and grab the blade. I really hate it when people find out you've been doing this, but I can't shake it. My mind won't let me go, it's toxic. I turn my scarred wrist over...

Here goes nothing...

"Loser"

"You have no friends"

"No one cares about you"

"F*ck off sad sack"

"Just die, no one would care"

I do one slice for each sentence that was written on my locker.

(Trigger warning done)

Once the pain finally settles in, I quickly grab the bandages and wrap my wrist, the blood dripping onto my sink and the floor along with my tears. It hurts, but not as bad as you would imagine. I grab some ibuprofen from the cabinet and take two, to help stop the pain. The bandage has already been soaked in blood, so I take it off and wrap more around my wrist. I then take some toilet paper and clean the sink and floor, staining the paper scarlet.
I hope she doesn't find out.