I got ahold of a knife.
A veryyyy sharp one.
I went to town on my leg.
It looks pretty bad.
It hurts like a mf.
But I'm the only one to blame for that.
Should I be doing this?
No.
Will I give it up?
Probably not.
This is what I'm used to.
This is what I've always ran back to.
This is me.
The real me.
When I get so mad, hurt, aggravated, etc.
I cut.
I cut to show my mental pain.
I cut to show that even tho it may not look like it, I'm hurting.
I'm showing how I feel on the inside.
I deserve it.
I deserve everything I put myself through.
And that's a lot.
Do I regret some things?
Maybe.
Would I ever take them back?
No.
It's what's made me, me.
Yeah, other people see it as just cutting.
I see it as releasing pain from deep within.
Just like when people are hurt they cry to relieve the hurting.
Well I cut to relieve the hurting.
I'm become so comfortable with it.
Too comfortable.
To the point where when I'm in the state of mind to cut, there's no talking myself out of it.
It's addicting.
It's somewhat comforting.
It's also pathetic.
Ridiculous.
Stupid.
And unbelievably dangerous.
Will I ever learn that?
No.
Should I learn from my mistakes?
Yes.
But I won't.
