I am a Victim

Mess

I believe this is the hardest part:

Trying to explain how we do want help, 

But at the same time, 

Want to be left alone

How after such a long time,

We have fallen in love with our sadness,

And convinced ourselves that without it we are nothing

We have come to identify ourselves with it

It's our comfort zone

Yet at the same time we worship the thin scars lining our wrists, 

We hate it

We hate it and we try to burn it by holding matches to our skin

And when that doesn't work,

We try to call it out

We stand in front of our mirrors and pinch our fat,

Subconsciously hoping that if we pinch hard enough,

The physical pain will push all the sadness and anger out

It never works of course

We keep doing it though

Over and over and over again

Until we forget why we did it in the first place and start doing it because it simply 

"Feels Good"

How messed up is that?

It feels good to physically hurt ourselves

To drag razorblades across our wrists

And punch holes in the wall

And dig our nail into our thighs until they bleed

That's not normal

It shouldn't be normal...

But it is