No one gets it. Others have gone through this same type of thing before but none exactly the same. No one has ever been both so happy and so upset at the same time. I get in the best mood of all time then I'll drop off and get upset about nothing. Literally nothing. Like I don't even know what it is I'm just upset. It's weird but true. And the cuts. They hurt so freaking bad. But feel so good. So so good. I love them. But hate them. While they're fresh I hate them but after a while I admire them. But then they fade. And I have no cuts to admire. Which is a good thing, but it's like I get attached to them. So when they fade...I miss them in a way. Like a piece of me is missing. But then I'm happy. I'm excited about life. I'm cheerful and happy and it's actually happy and laughter and smile. But I'm also upset. Every time I look at my arm. Every time I see a blade. Every time I have to take a pill. I never know if I can control myself. I never know if when I'm told to use a scalpel for art if I'll only use it for my art. I never know if when I take a pill if I'll "accidentally" take too many. I look at my arm. I see the fading scars. I hate myself. And love myself. I love how far I've come. But I've fallen back into old habits. I scratch everyday. I take mechanical pencils and tear at my flesh. It doesn't leave permanent marks but it feels so good. Just the sudden feeling of peace. It puts me in a good mood most days. But I have to stop. I'm told its bad. But what no one understands is this: how can so thing that feels so damn good be so bad? Answer that for me. I want to always do it. It doesn't leave long term marks or scars. It doesn't draw blood. What's so bad about it? I don't see it as bad really. But some part of me, I don't know if it's my heart or my brain, tells me to stop. It tells me that I shouldn't be doing it. It tells me that people love me and they'd not like it of they saw me doing that. It's terrible. Something that I enjoy doing to myself can be so bad. I just don't understand. Why can't anyone answer me? I'm only assuming, but I think that it has to do with that no one cares. No one wants I talk about self harm. Scratching. They'll think is just for attention. No. I scratch because I want to cut but can't because it'll be seen. I get away with it sometime if its little, but mostly I don't. I scratch as a stress reliever. It's my drug. It's my marijuana. I'm becoming addicted to something so insignificant. And at the same one as loving it, I hate it. It's killing me. It makes me feel good for a few minutes until I run out of ways to forget about it. Music doesn't always work. People don't always work. Sometimes nothing works. It's so bad. After I run out of things to make me forget I start the feelings of regret. I get these feelings in my chest like a flock of cries building up and attacking my heart. It hurts. So bad. So I scratch again. No one sees. No one knows.
