I'm going to bed victorious tonight.
I did it.
I really did it.
I've been working up to this but I finally did it.
I've been scratching my forearm with a pen.
Tonight I did it with a razor.
I broke the skin.
I'm so giddy about it.
Does this mean my depression is finally valid?
There is so much satisfaction in looking down and seeing these cuts.
They're not quite cuts, but they're getting there.
I'm proud of myself.
