letting go. (RusEng)

hello?

I was sat on the cold, murky tiles of the bathroom floor, my knees tucked up to my chest and my arms cupping the back of my head and pushing it into the hard bone of my knees. I was shaking like crazy as my vision went blurry from holding in tears. Every negative thought you could imagine was going through my head right now.
I'm a faliure.
I'm never gonna make it.
Why?
What did I do to deserve this?
No one likes me.
I hate myself.
Why was I born like this!?
What did I d-

I was cut off by a hand on my shoulder. Shit, I forgot to lock the door. The bloodied razorblade at my feet was picked up, then put into the sink; also of which drenched in my blood. The red liquid poured from the cuts in my thighs, slowly trailing down and staining my legs in pinkish-sepia.i couldn't speak; I physically couldn't. No words could describe how I was feeling, how sorry I was they walked in on this, why I was doing this.

The handprint on my back marked by my father early this morning was still clear in red, and it stung. The tingling sensation of the cuts, the bruises, the tears, the marks, it was all too much. I felt numb.

I ran a finger along the edge of one of my black military boots, wiping off some of the blood from its sole. The person came over, putting my legs down flat so they could get a better look. They slowly started to clean the self-inflicted wounds. It stung and burnt as they rubbed the cloth over my thighs. I hissed in pain at the slightest more pressure, hating how the cold water felt against my skin.

I hated that they saw me like this; my trousers down to my knees, the blood all over my legs and hips.i hated that they had found me in such a vulnerable state, and that I was acting like a wimp at the slightest amount of pain. I was supposed to be the largest and one of the strongest countries in the world, not the massive, 7 foot tall, baby. But that's what I looked like; an absolute pussy.

"You've got to stop doing this to yourself."

I knew they were right, but stopping felt wrong. People say, "it's a sign you're healing!" No it's not, it's a sign I'm never gonna be clean for more than two months at a time. Stopping and restarting after a few weeks doesn't mean I'm getting better. Sure, maybe I'm not getting worse, but I'm not getting better, either. Why am I like this? Why do I suffer in pain all the time? But...

... Why do I think causing myself more pain will fix the pain I'm going to have regardless?

This isn't the way to do it. I'm only hurting myself more. This isn't beneficial to me whatsoever, why do I think it is.

If you've ever struggled with self harm and were brave enough to read this, I love you.

Keep going.