After All This Time?

I've been clean for almost two years yet I still crave the coolness of the blade against my skin, the warmth of blood dripping down my wrists.
The beautiful crimson red decorating my wrists acting like a temporary tattoo, I miss the seconds of relief, the feeling of all my pain vanishing even if it's for a mere second. Yet my mind keeps playing tricks on me, one moment I'm here and the next I'm back in that bathroom with the blade in my hand, where fifteen year old me begged for the courage to press down a tiny bit deeper, back in that bathroom where I begged God to kill me; to take me from the life I couldn't live anymore. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had just had the balls to finish the job, maybe if I had taken one more pill, but why did I always chicken out at the last minute? What the hell was I so afraid of? Hurting the people around me? The same people who didn't give a damn about me. Who's toxicity plagued my life. Always being told to "just smile and be happy" but how can you be happy when your life is full of abuse, mentally, physically and emotionally, how was I supposed to be happy when all I wanted to do was tear into my wrists and bleed out to death. I'm broken, and all that's left of me are mental illnesses that plague my mind at every waking second...