i don't really feel like fighting.

the pros and cons of self harm.

pros:

- when i was 13, i figured that if i hurt the parts of me no one has to see, then no one has to know about it. i could let myself hurt in secret.

- i still don't know how else to feel safe, how else to keep this mess in check. this is the only thing that fucking works.

- i still crave that feeling of everything fading into the background as my body would rush to stop the bleeding.

- and i was always so sad when it did. i still miss how i felt high that one time and it scares me how much i want to feel like that again.

cons:

- the doctor told me it "wasn't even that bad." i spent the next three years debating whether or not i was allowed to recover from something that might not really have hurt me in the first place.

- when the cuts turned to scars, i was left with the same mess, only paler. i can't wear short sleeves anymore.

- i asked my mom to buy me some long sleeves and she forgot. even in the middle of the clothes store, she forgot. i think my mother is scared of letting me own them again.

- the next morning, i'd remember what happened during the night and i would feel so scared, so terrified that someone would see.

- i don't miss how more recently, my body couldn't stop it alone so i slept with tissue drying to my arms from the blood.

- i do miss that high feeling. i've only had it once.

- but i don't miss how, for weeks after, the only place i felt safe enough to take my jacket off was the dark cinema or alone in my bedroom. 

- and i don't miss how i'd pick the scabs off one by one before i showered just to make myself sting, trying desperately to make my brain rewire itself into never wanting this again.

- and i don't miss the look on my mother's face when she saw my cuts the second time

- and i don't miss the embarrassment of girls pointing out my arms -- when i had to change in the bathroom out of my jersey and into my practice shirt -- asking me what happened and calling me a freak and a psycho when i wouldn't answer.

- and i don't miss having to try and explain to my friend why i did it when i can't even remember because goddammit i was doing so okay.

- and i hate that i'll miss the scars, if they'll ever fade. i hate that when they did the first time, i did everything i could to give myself a reason to make them come back. i'd give anything for my skin to be smooth again, but at the same time i know as soon as it is i'll wish it striped. i wish i could tell my body that i'm truly sorry. (am i really though?) 

-  i wish i could rewire my brain into doing something else when it wants to show the heavy feeling, or the empty one, but i can't.

- i hope i can forgive myself.