tears turned to ink

also february 20, 2020

!!9:00pm

when i shave my legs and the blades run over the scars on my skin, i can't help but think that my razor is cutting the wrong thing. running the wrong way, up and down rather than side to side. cutting hair instead of skin. self care rather than self destruction. i haven't cut in a few weeks and the temptation is seeping out in every breath i take. i find satisfaction in knowing that IM the person in control of my own pain. I made the decision to cut. I deconstructed a sharpener to get the razor. I plowed it through my skin. it was MY decision on MY terms. I wanted to do it. it was me. all of it was me, but after all these years of being controlled by other people, it feels like it was their doing as well. it was their comments and their actions and their hits and their fingertips digging into my skin that drove me to this. i still like to believe that i do it for me. making the excuse that "i do it to feel something". i don't. i do it because i don't want to feel anything. i do it because i hate myself and i hate living. i don't do it for control, i do it because of my lack of control of myself. when i make my slits i think that i'm doing so much good for someone. i'm giving the hunger for death another drop of fulfillment. i'm giving the mortician who will prepare my body her salary, and the funeral director his. i'm giving the people who hate me the pleasure of knowing i'm gone and the people who love me, one less person to worry about. i'm giving my parents one less tuition to pay and my family one less birthday present to buy. i'm giving my teachers one less test to grade and one less student to fail. everyone is better off if there's one less of me. maybe next time i shave i won't keep the razor going up and down. maybe i'll drag it to the side. maybe i'll finally free myself. maybe.