My name is Cristina D. Johnson
Cut again tonight. Nothing major, comparatively speaking. Enough that I felt the perverse satisfaction of knowing I am alive.
Paradoxical, yyou wish just this little bit were it. You wish this was all it took.
The paper towels didn't hold enough blood to personify the pain.
Oh God.
Oh God.
Please.
Please.
I can't take it anymore. I keep trying. I keep trying.
I feel so alone.
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