The last few weeks I've spent so many hours pleading with myself to calm, to reach an equilibrium between extreme emotions. Going from irrationally angry to deeply distracted and inconsolable. And every time that she reached out to me, it set me off again.

But I am alone now. More alone then I have ever been. and the world is colourless, devoid of life. I desperately need to feel, to remind myself that I am still breathing, heart still beating. Perhaps that's why I choose to burn myself rather then cut. The sensation of the heat travelling up my arm brings warmth back into my battered body. I don't choose to hurt myself out of some petty hatred, though that might be how it started, I hurt myself so that I can remember what it is to breathe in cool air and not let it leave you choking. See a couple engorge themselves in the company of the other and not wish to scream in frustration and loss.

I still see myself, blade in hand, as I slice down through my arm, as I slide under the water while it runs red with my blood. But do I truly wish that to be the future? Hope, the worst of mankind's emotions, drags me back kicking and screaming. Her damned face haunts my waking moments. But she is no longer mine.

You have no idea how relieved I'd be if I was in an accident. The choice over life and death removed from my hands. To be free of this grey world.