That’s the deepest I’ve ever cut. I just love to sit and lap up the blood with my toungue. God, I’m so deranged. I tried listening to music. It hurt. I tried silence. It hurt. I tried reading a book. It hurt. I called a friend. It hurt. I masturbated. I just cried harder. Now I wish that the pain from the knife were helping the way it used to. It’s like heroin: worse and worse for me as I try harder and harder to feel as good as I did that first time. I don’t have any dreams any more. That’s really the worst part.