i push down and drag it harshly against my skin
you deserve this. every cut. every tear. you deserve it all. you're worthless. no one will love you with these scars. you're pathetic.
blood is all I see.
the steady flow of red that paints my thighs.
I clench my eyes shut in attempt to get rid of them
"stop it. stop it- you're stronger than this. you're okay"
I try to block them out but it's so hard. they're screaming it's impossible to ignore.
i grab what i need and continue what I started.
it's like gravity: it's what's holding me in place. it's what's keeping me sane.
you don't understand.
you'll never understand.
it's hard to describe the want - the need
how do i tell you i have to cut my wrist so i can feel like im good enough? how do i tell you that i hate myself so much i'll starve myself for months? how do i tell you that i feel so unloved i go to a blade for comfort? how do i tell you that my self-esteem is so low i can't accept a compliment? how do i tell you im so lonely that my blade is my only friend? how do i tell you i have voices in my head that scream and yell until i do what they want? how do i admit what i do? how do i admit who i actually am? how do i tell you and know you wont judge me?
what if you leave?
it's hard to think when they're yelling at you. it's easier just to give in, so i do.
it glides effortlessly against my skin
it feels nice. comforting. satisfying.
i watch the blood trickle down. i find it amusing that i no longer feel the pain. that i no longer feel anything
i do more and more until I can no longer hear them; until I can no longer see; until I can no longer breathe.
