Blood

You cut yourself badly, an assortment of glass objects have smashed down on the floor and you're bare foot.

Somebody who's supposed to love you doesn't come right away, but instead arrive a minute later. Instead of being concerned with your well being, they begin to huff and puff, trying their best to guilt you about the mess.

You hobble your way out, avoiding the glass as best you can and hear them say

"You're getting blood everywhere" before returning to muttering under their breath.

I hope this wound rots and kills me, I hope my stupidity now is too much for my sanity later. I've got days before anyone needs to see me, and longer before anyone cares. I hope I bleed out in my sleep.