impavid

the controlling

I can't stop causing myself pain.

but I enjoy it.

I rip my hair, I scratch the back of my hands, I naw at my lip until it's bleeding.

but no one notices it.

no one notices the "cat scratches" on my hands, the busted lips, the cigarette burns on my thighs, or the slices upon slices on the skin of my hips.

I'm not a little bitch. I'm not going to cut myself on my wrists or my thighs or some other obvious place on my body.

contrary to what everyone says about me, I'm no attention seeking slut.

they're so hidden, even if you saw me in underwear they'd be covered.

they're right there.

where only I can see them.

and I enjoy it.

I can control whether or not the people around me are oblivious.

they think they know everything.

they think that I'm perfectly fine. that I'm over jay and everything that he did to me.

they think that I'm smiley and bubbly, and I am.

but on the inside I am grey.

neutral.

numb.

but then I go home. I lock the door and I take out my blade.

I pull my underwear down so that my skin is exposed.

I take the blade and press it there, teasing myself a bit.

and then I press. slowly going deeper and wider and longer.

until I am bleeding.

and it hurts. it hurts so bad.

but that's the thing.

the thing with pain.

i can control how it makes me feel.

I enjoy it.

I enjoy it.

I enjoy it.

my brain believes it.

I no longer feel pain.

I feel joy.

I did that. I decided that I enjoy it. and that makes me feel something.

I feel something.

control.

I am in control.

I control it.

I am controlling it.