the bottle or the blade?

Have you ever woken up, and told yourself that you'd never make it?

Woken up, with that same feeling of fat and ugly you had last night?

Friends, facebook and fun are meaningless now.
Music is no longer a sheild strong enough,
strong enough to block out the voices of the other ones.

Food cannot fill the void.
not any more.

And pain does not give the rush it used to.

It is time.

Time to resort to something desperate.

The blade or the bottle, she wonders?

Pain or a miserable haze, followed by a horrible sickness.

Writing just makes it worse.
Worse is seeing the words on paper.
Worse is knowing the words to be true.

The hour has gotten too late.
There is no shovel, and no hand to  rescue her from this avalanche of woe.

And the question still remains,
the bottle
or
the blade?