i used to not feel like a real cutter because i only cut on the top of my arm. i have many, many layers of cuts on the top of my left forearm; it's my favorite place. yet even though i felt like a fake, i did it anyway and it worked. i once got so desperate for blood that i took the razor out of a new pencil sharpener.
when i was really psychotic, the voices in my head told me to tell mom all of my secrets, so i did, and i told her about the cutting. from then on, cutting never really held the same charm for me. i had to slice more and slice deeper for anything to really work - to feel that calm as the blood bubbled up and the razor dropped. so i quit, for my mother's benefit. i have said time and time again that i'm not cutting anymore, even though i am.
and that brings us to now. i have a boyfriend and a family and friends who hate the sight of my scarred arms. i have a hatred for my body and myself. i hate myself so fucking much and i deserve this misery, this torture, this hell.
i used to be scared of cutting my wrist. used to be.
Before I got my razors I used pencil sharpener blades and broken glass. I used to be afraid of cutting my wrists too so I cut the top of my right forearms. It was easy and it didn't hurt plus you get a lot of blood that bubbles over. When I got put in the hospital a few months ago I cut deep on my wrist, not deep enough that I hit a vein(you'd be surprised how many layers of skin are over your veins) but enough to bleed. A lot. I didn't classify myself as a cutter until this year. You aren't alone sweetheart. Even though you may feel like the only fucked up person in the world I promise you aren't. You don't deserve the punishment you put yourself through. You're a beautiful person and if you ever need some who knows what it's like I'm here. <3 you can make it through this
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