She opened up the blade and closed it repeatedly. She couldnt stop, it was habit. She rubbed the blade softly against her skin, and a mix of emotions ran across her. She remembered the multiple times fear that multiple blades had crossed her skin in threat. She remembers the times that she held her own blade, with blood running down it from defense. She remembers the nights when she used the blade to see her own skin turn red to get rid of pain. Funny thing, how pain and pleasure are so easily confused. Who knew some of the same hormones are involved in these two emotions. She thinks about love, how confusing it is. How did she just realize the difference between love and being in love. She knew she loved family and friends, how did she not think she could get confused about a male friend? She did love him, he was her best friend. And maybe she wasnin love with him. But right now, she needed space, and wasnt sure how to tell him. Either way, she did not want to lose him out of her life. She was, simply leaving for some peace of mind, for her sanity. Some time to figure herself and her life out, so he could have time to figure himself out. She wasnt sure what to think about things anymore. She just, needed space. And she couldnt get it. So as he snored, and she was stuck inside, she listened to infomercials and flicked her knife. She pushed it up again her skin, and scratched. No blood, i guess her knife needed to be sharpened. She scratched multiple words and drawings into the back of her hand, not even a scratch. She did not feel the pain she needed to relax. Her chest pounded. When her chest got this bad, it was a sign her mind was no longer her. This demon, the depression, had taken over. She tried to breathe. She scratched some more, but nothing. She closed her blade. Maybe it was a sign. But she was not sure how else to release this pain off her chest. She cried, and dosed off… more memories to come in her sleep.