"I need it". Cutting is the only way I can deal with my emotions anymore. I like it the razor against my skin feels nice and the drip is so satisfying. What the absolute fuck is wrong with me I can't sleep unless I'm bleeding anymore. My doctors keep getting changed up god I don't want to have to explain my story to a new person again. Even now the painful memories are flooding back making me feel more anxious the way those girls abused me, the way the doctors drugged me up. The only thing keeping me sane is this. I've turned my back on faith. it's getting me nowhere if hell is where I'll go then so be it. its got to be better than the pain I feel daily. my thoughts always return to suicide. My chest hurts from all smoke, really don't know how much longer I even want my life. Because I know I'm gonna end up shaving my wrist down to the bone soon or later, fired from my job or I'll just end in a mental institution again. My goal through cutting was originally more than just a cry for help it was so I could cry. Now I'm used to cutting, hell I don't think anything will make me feel normal. Now its time to try and it some rest got a long fucking day tomorrow. "God, I would love to be as dead as I am inside", I think to myself gripping the razor one last time as close my eyes my vision grows dark once more. The peaceful feeling drips down my arm as I fall asleep. "Yep, I'm addicted to pain".
YOU ARE READING
All in my head?
Non-FictionWhy fight this pain, when everyday it only becomes easier to go? This is sort of a diary it will become more of a story as the chapters continue. May have mentions of suicide. Might have graphic images, if that bothers you don't read this, check out...
