it was there, you were right. but i just didnt feel like using it. i hadnt talked to my family for a month at the longest. i stopped functioning in school, and it was a miracle i passed this year. i would shake when i walked in school, because everyone's eyes terrified me beyond reason. staring so hard into the distance that my eyeballs throbbed in their sockets, and even though i never blinked when i walked from class to class my eyes were never dry. id hide my full bodied flinches when i met eyes with someone by channeling them into my  hands that jerked bonelessly and my feet, toes curling like a whip and snapping off my nails in my shoes. i walked gingerly, like every step shook the world. id come home drained and sleep, sleep, sleep, all i wanted to do was sleep. id wake up after everyone went to bed and turn on my laptop and listen to them sing and watch them dance and the pitch of their voices change and stare at pictures for minutes without doing anything, just studying their bone structure and memorizing them, and id go outside and sit and stare at the moon spread eagle on the rocks and letting the bugs bite me as i got goosebumps like chicken pox and watched the moon move and airplanes fly by and dying stars flicker. id always worn hoodies since elementary school so no one suspected a thing. before i found a pencil sharpener that wasnt bolted together i used a little blue plastic-handled knife, then scissors when i figured out that they worked much better. and it wasnt 'every day slipped past me' because i slept whenever i couldnt walk anymore and i didnt even notice when the clock went from day to day anymore. the first half of this year i remember nothing outside of my room, my sleep, my darling sweetheart babies in my screen, my hot pink scissors my blue paring knife my sterling silver chain where i keep my collection of razors. id go out for hours and wander around the neighborhoods without a flicker of conscience or even a word crossing my head. it was the true definition of complete silence. sit on the sides of roads until i started gathering too many suspicious, accusing looks and then wander my way back home somehow, where no one questioned where id been outside of a walk because its perfectly ordinary. and when they left id scream and scream and scratch at the tiles and try to rip my mattress open and bury myself in it until my voice started screaming at me for screaming and id scream back and then id start laughing and i couldnt stop smiling even when i tried.

my best friend and i had a falling out then, but i dont miss her, not an ounce. she confronted me for not talking in such a superior, noble way that i shriveled into myself and wanted to chop off my limbs to get smaller so i could hide. my fear morphed into bloodlust not soon after, and i stopped skittering around school, instead stabbing my legs down as i walked. id twitch and dig my teeth into each other and in my cheeks and chew on them when she came close to me because i was hyperaware of how easily i could dig into her and how long it owuld be before anyone could stop me because it would take but a second if i just grabbed her and shoveled for gold in her eye sockets. we only had one class together and thatentire class i would never focus and just rip clean through my paper every time i heard her voice and she talked so ing often and i would fantasize about what would land me in an asylum and i was so lucky i sat in the corner at the back because i would convulse and cover it up as shifting in my seat and my eyes would roll back and twitch while i grinned so wide it was baring my gums at my work as i over my teeth and focused on breathing a little less heavy.
the sudden burst of toomuch energy for an entire month as i settled into an erratic burn for her blood was the only thing that pulled me out of my long, long walks and my sleeping for as much as i could gather and my nights spent outside staring and inside venting all of my tiny misery and rage into words. after the rage settled i was suddenly okay; not better, but okay, and it was so much easier to live. 
we had a discussion that year in a class, about depression, and there was one chick that kept saying it was so stupid that people cut. "just stop cutting! oh my god, is that sohardd? depression is so stupid" she kept repeating that over and over again as i dragged the heel of my palm over my sleeve and ripped open my scabs and debated back. 
you dont 'get better' from depression, you dont 'stop cutting' you dont 'just go out more' 'just hang out with some friends' 'just baby steps' no you, even i dont know what makes you better because im not eve fully better myself because to be honest ive always felt bloodlust and shivered in ecstasy when i dream of my red red revenge and maybe i belong in those loony houses with all us other loony toons because we dont just ing get better because you tell us to