The desire, the cravings, are getting stronger everyday. I yearn for the sharp yet pleasurable pain brought by what starts as a single, small prick. The puckered kisses of scarlet left behind, intertwined, yet fading faster and faster. I never did it because I wanted to die. Well, perhaps at some point...
I remember the first time, the broken glass lying on the floor from the mirror I destroyed in pure hate, anger and angst. I remember getting down on my knees for the first of what would be many many times, crying, tears turning into a wicked laugh. Picking up that jagged shard and plunging it into my arm, dragging, pushing, smiling as I saw the result of my work. I remember falling into a deep sleep and waking up at 1 a.m. in my room wondering what had happened. I was 10. I was too young. I've always been to young for the terrible decisions I make.
Once you start you can never stop, the cravings get stronger and stronger until you realize that you don't want the blade, you need it. I remember being in middle school, 8th grade, when I thought my friends were starting to notice. I took up an interest in boys, the second vice I'd ever bring upon myself. They stopped asking.
Suddenly I was in High School, more terrible than I'd ever been, when I wasn't with someone of the opposite gender I was alone with a book of poetry and a razor. I had evolved into something else.
Then "he" came along. Spoke words that weren't pretty but made me feel a little less insignificant. I remember when those words stopped. When the "i love yous" turned into I fucked her, and her, and her, and her. The feeling of not wanting to let go of the one person who at some distant point in the past had made me feel... less like shit, that feeling cut me deeper than anything else.
It got out of hand, spiraled out of control too quickly. I remember sitting in class when one particular wound decided to open itself and stain my sleeve with the sweet nectar of anguish, fear, and pain. Someone noticed. For the first time. A friend, someone I hoped would never discover how weak I was and always had been behind the confidant and smiled exterior sugar coated in laughter. Class finished, he asked to see, I declined. He stole my supplies, everything I needed. I begged him for everything back. I cried, I'd do anything for him to keep it quiet, anything. He held me. He always had a way of calming me with an embrace, I've never expressed my emotions to anyone the way I did to him that day.
Unwillingly he returned my supplies, with a condition. I could never ever under any circumstance do it again. Not over that piece of shit. I agreed. I kept my end of the deal. I still do to this very day despite the fact that just like everyone else I'd ever cared for he left me. I still ache for the feeling though. No, I don't want to kill myself. No, I'm not delusional. I want the feeling of the pure vino flowing from me. To see the way my blood beads, and turns into flowing rivers traveling down my wrists dripping down falling into my lap.
The scars are almost all but healed up now, practically invisible to the unsearching eye. "Lies" is etched on my arm, I fear the memory of those lies will never fade away. I try to be strong, remind myself that my mind is too beautiful of a thing to lose, but the thoughts creep in with minds of their own. I wonder what it is, what it is that makes me want to cause myself such harm. Why am I so self destructive? Even now I try to destroy any good thing that may come my way. Why? What's wrong with me, in me? Why, because I'm a terrible person. My mind is a disgusting place, and I will keep that secret from the rest of my being until the day I die. I will never show anyone how truly repulsive I am. It will be my disgusting secret, a deranged joke amongst the few who think they understand who I am. They don't. They don't know that I myself, have grown into an abomination hiding under a warm smile. The don't know how troubled I am, I'd rather it be that way.
I'd rather help everyone else, make them smile, and give them my love, than waste the effort on myself.
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