I've wanted to die. Needed to cry.
slashed, brought back to life.
Why do we cut ourselves? A simple question.
A complex answer.
The day is dull in this world.
I always share my scars with you, so that you do not feel it too.
I am hurting so much inside, and I don’t understand why.
I would like to cry, but I can’t, and I don't know why.
Getting better at resisting.
I don't know when I last cut. I didn't remember the date.
No pain no gain, so they say.
I want to cut. I will not.
What am I running from? Even I don't know.
I have done it again. Picked up the knife.
Trying to write out these feelings. But can’t seem to find the words.
***Trigger Warning***My body is a jail. Housing inmates of blood. Inmates who plot to escape.
It is screaming out my name, with every little hurdle.
Tell me not to cut, because I really want to.
I'm thankful for my treatment. For doctors and medicines and therapy.