3 relapses in 2 weeks life. is. beautiful.

I put them in order. The first one is the newest and the last one is well, the last. I feel like ive cut more in the past few weeks than i have in months.

I dont know whats triggering me so bad

I just hurt

Sometimes i just get so tired of caring about what happens to me. And the consequences of my self harm. It pulls me in too hard. Too heavily.

I dont feel like this was enough. And i dont think it will ever feel like enough until all i am is scars.

I want to lacerate next time. I need something big, bloody, and deep.

I want to dig the razor into my skin and carve like im a pumpkin.

I want to carve until my veins are dry. I want to carve until i can finally unleash the waves of red hidden inside me. So let me carve. Please.

I liked it this time…

I really wish i didn’t. It was the first time that i’ve had the deep rooted urge to cut in a while. It didn’t hurt. Which is why it scares me. Before i “recovered” thats how it always was. I never hurt the way other people did. Earlier I just kept looking and being fascinated by how my skin opened itself. Slash, and watch it peel back even more. I loved it. I wish i didn’t do it. But i loved it.

Almost a Relapse

You’ll see,
In the winter cold
When I show you the demons under my sleeves-
I dont cut,
I cleave

I’ve held it in as long as I can. I was finally healed again, but decided to cut. It was spur of the moment so my mind wasn’t ready; It will be next time.

It’s the most frustrating thing when I can’t get past the metaphorical hump self-harming . I feel like its not valid if its as superficial as this relapse. I know should be happy that I had a “bad” sesh, but I’m not, I want to cut so deep still.

I did want to cut to the fat, at the very least. I bought more butterfly strips just in case, so I wont have to get stitches again. The local e.r. is not the happiest with me at this point so facing them again is nerve racking.

When I got stitches, last time, the doctor simply ignored me for the whole hour, angrily sighing anytime I spoke.

I want to cut my arms, I want to butcher them, but I’m so afraid that ill be exposed. Yes, I have scars on them so no one would notice new ones as anything abnormal if they already knew, but I’m starting a new job soon. It worries me that I might need to push my sleeves up for something I’m doing. (I did dishes in long sleeves for months at my last job)

Its mainly that I’m more comfortable with cutting my legs; I’ve always worn pants no matter what, so it’s not abnormal; I was thinking about my calf’s this time.

I don’t want to keep venturing around my body dropping scars anywhere and everywhere, but in the end that’s how fucked up I am.

10.10.19 relapse

I haven’t cut like this sense the beginning of this year, but here we are. I’m tired of the world stealing everything that makes me happy. I just want things to feel okay again. But I know they wont and I fucking hate myself for it, because its somehow my fault. And if its not, I’m crazy, because I think so much that I convince myself of these things