I woke up in tears this morning, I seem to be doing that an awful lot recently. When I start to cry though, I need that sense of closure, so I hold my pillow against my chest and cry, I cry like a child whose just had their favorite toy taken of them. Unable to stop. My eyes end up sore, and my face ends up feeling tacky and I lay on my bed, even hours after I've finished all my tears, I lay there, wishing I would suddenly stop breathing, stop battling, stop being such a failure.
I love the sensation of dragging my blade across my wrists, and down my arms, on my thighs, ankles and across my stomach, but I'm not satisfied till I have a sense of depth in my cuts, a sense of the pain I deserve. I don't stop until I have that perfect cut, that perfect sense of pain, and that wonderful sense of pain. Because it feels better to feel pain, than it does feeling nothing. I'm addicted to things that are self destructive.
When your scars start fading, it's meant to leave you with a wonderful sense of recovery, but I feel lost without mine. They have been inflicted on to me throughout all the battles I have fought with myself and without them I become a nobody. I no longer feel loved nor needed, I'm friendless, a burden to those whom are around me. I can see how people look at me, in disgust almost, like I'm a freak, maybe I am. I can't stand my own reflection, that mirror image that looks back at me, so what makes me think that those around me will just about cope with that disgusting reflection? Those scars, all that fat, that fucked up hair.
Death seems more inviting than life at times, I close my eyes thinking about all the wonders it might be bring me, the great amount of peace, despite it being a selfish act, inconsiderate and cowardly, but I'm tired of fighting, I'm tired of going on, and on, and I'm tired of having to face everyday debating whether or not I actually want to be here, and I don't know why I am.
My self harm story started like many others, I started scratching at myself vigorously, after that, my parents would no longer let me keep long nails and if I didn't cut them down, they would do it for me, then it turned to pins, needles, badges, and again, I scratched, and scratched till I bled, then I turned to the sharpener, the pain started feeling more real, and I fell in love with it the more I did it, then it turned to the razor, I would spend ages trying to get the blades out of my razor, I would love that collection, my collection of self harm tools grew, and grew! And then I bought a blade, one that could cut deep and I sensed a loss of self control. Many people own 'Self harm distraction' kits, then you have me, I own a self harm kit, which consists of over 200 different blades, here's just a 1/5 of them.
But my blades collection continually grew and grew. I hated myself for destroying my body, but I loved the pain I gave myself, because it's what I deserved. It didn't just stop at cutting however,I turned to burning, overdosing, hair pulling, I managed to loose the majority of my hair under section 2 of the mental health act as I had my blades confiscated of me. I scratched vigorously I found all the ways I could do destroy myself. But now, I go through bouts of emptiness. I have no-one to turn to, and I know for one, that I'll never be good enough, no matter how hard I try.
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