THAT THOUGHT

I always have that thought, the thought that things would be better if I weren't here. Sometimes it's more distant, I barely notice it, and other times it's so overwhelming that it won't leave my head, not even in my sleep. It intensifies when I'm isolated from people or when I don't know what to do. It intensifies when there's one of those fights in my family where nothing goes right, especially when it involves my brother. The thought doesn't disappear. I've tried everything, but it still persists. It's always waiting to surface and leave me pondering for hours, days, or even weeks. The strange thing is that sometimes I feel I should do it, that I should write a few words in letters to those people who loved me and still love me, and heed the thought. I don't always think about the same thing. Sometimes it's my fingernails that betray me, digging into my palms like daggers. Other times it's the thought of picking up those scissors I've been hiding and marking my skin even more, with scars that will never fade, but will serve as a reminder of what I've been through. That thought is always with me; sometimes it only opens a little of the window and other times it opens it completely, but that thought never goe