it’s fucked up but I feel so much better. my intentions were never to die, it’s never too deep, it never bleeds a lot. I just wait until I see the blood trickle to the surface. and then I’m satisfied. you don’t bleed when you’re dead, so the blood proves I’m alive, even when I feel nothing. sometimes I just need a reminder. nothing matters anymore, all that matters is the stinging on your wrists and the peaceful feeling it finally gives you. nothing I’ve ever done has made me feel this way. it works faster than pills, better than weed, even better than talking to someone. I’m in love. I’m in love with the scratches, the cuts, the bruises. it means I feel something. I’m alive, I still have a chance. I see the way people look at me. at first they see a happy little girl. pretty, young, nice clothes, a nice car. what could be wrong? but then they see my arms. I try to hide it, but I’m so used to it sometimes I forget. they look at me and ask “are you okay?” I smile and pull down my sleeves, I say “no really, I’m fine” and it’s not a lie. the cuts are what makes me fine, they are what keeps me going. it reminds me my heart is still beating, the scars prove I’ve been through things no human should ever have to endure, but I fought it. I lived it. I have the scars to show it. sometimes I think I’m getting better, I’ll go days, weeks, months, without hurting myself. but then it all adds up. the thoughts come rushing back. once the thoughts are in my head there is almost no turning back. I will do it. no matter how long I pace back and forth debating it, I know in my heart I’m going to do it. sometimes I want to call for help, but I know that this is the easier option. it doesn’t hurt anybody. not if I don’t tell them. yes, I feel guilty. I try to avoid looking at my arms. other times I love staring at them, I think blood is pretty. I think cuts are signs of strength. I would like to be different, but this is who I am. I don’t know if I ever can change. I’m sorry if this hurts. it hurts me as well, but also know it makes me feel better, and there is not a single thing in the world you could have done to stop me. there are times that I don’t know what I would have done without it. I don’t want to think about what I would have done. everybody has a vice, right?