𝗜𝗳 𝗜 𝗗𝗶𝗲 𝗧𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄 🤍

•𝗖𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗜𝗻 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗔𝗰𝘁•

•🗡•

Nikki's POV, 24th November 2004

The last week I've hardly spoken a word to anyone, I'm doing what I did back in late '91 and early '92, I'm pushing myself away from the world... away from Vince... he wouldn't understand what's wrong with me. He wouldn't get it.

I'm upstairs, where I've been pretty much everyday, Vince is downstairs as far as I know... he comes up every now and again, he brought me coffee every few hours.

I was hurting him, but I didn't have a choice, my head... my thoughts weren't letting me trust him and open up to him, he was scared and I saw it, a part of me wanted him to ask me what was wrong but if he did I knew what my reaction would be, I'd argue with him and make everything worse just like I did before if not fuck everything up even more than I did then because for some reason I feel worse now than I did when we initially broke up in 1992.

The fucking urge to hurt myself was so fucking sanity draining now, I was about to just give in... and I hate to say it but I think that's what I'm about to do. It's not my choice, my thoughts are controlling my actions, I'm just constantly thinking about my mom and all the times she told me I wasn't worth anything and all the times her boyfriends drilled into my head what I waste of space I am... they were right, what kinda man am I that I don't tell my own boyfriend I'm on course for a total emotional nosedive any second now.

I didn't want to start cutting again, I've done so good... I didn't want to fuck it up... but I was itching for the pain, to feel that sting as I bleed, somewhere in my dark, twisted mind I've missed it, I've missed causing myself pain.

God, that's so fucked up- what's the matter with me? Why am I like this?

Why I was letting myself fall so deeply into these thoughts is anyone's guess... why I'm giving up fighting them is also an answer nobody can give, I'm not a quitter yet I always lose the war for my own mental health.

The sane and logical part of my head is screaming, telling me to think of Vince and the shit show of other thoughts harming myself could bring forward.

I remember the first time I put a blade my my skin, way back... I was eleven, I think... I didn't really know what I was doing but all I knew is that I enjoyed the feeling, I enjoyed the pain. I was used to feeling pain from the beatings I got so the sting of cutting was almost comfortable because it was all I knew.

My mom noticed the cuts on my wrists but it's not like she gave a shit, she just taunted me for them and made me want to cut more. It was my coping mechanism, it's always been my coping mechanism, my coping mechanism for feeling constantly worthless.

Every-time I manage to stop self harming, it eventually just comes flooding back... I can't escape it, it's part of who I am now and that's the way it has to be... I'm not harming anyone but myself so that makes it okay, right?

It doesn't... but I can't accept that right now.

I ran my hands through my hair and and began bouncing my leg up and down softly as I fought against the feeling... I can't do this, not again... but it'll help... it'll help... no, no, I can't... I can't... but I have too, I have too.

Without trying to think about what I'm doing I went into the bathroom and went into the cupboard and rummaged through for a razor blade, it didn't take me long to find the packet of them and take one out, I happen go glance at myself in the mirror but quickly look away not wanting to see myself, I didn't want to do this... but I couldn't stop myself.