I’m my own worst enemy

I am so completely exhausted by constant suicidal thoughts and fantasies. Anytime I make a little mistake, or when someone’s response to what I’ve said feels off, there’s a voice berating me, telling me, “I hate you, you’re a stupid fucking whore, go kill yourself. Go kill yourself Rachel. Go kill yourself,” over and over and over. Every day. The theory being: “Everyone remembers every little stupid thing you do and they hate you for it. You should kill yourself and make them forget how stupid you are. Don’t tell anyone, don’t ask for help. They’ll never see it coming.” I don’t think I’ll actually do it. But I’m just so tired.

And then there’s the fucking cuts. Last May, I made a promise to myself that I would stop cutting. And I made it. One whole year. I was so excited and proud of myself. But last Sunday, something snapped in me. I was angry, I lost control, and I made nine fresh cuts on my legs. I don’t use a razor, so the scars aren’t permanent, but they can take up to eight months to disappear completely. Some of them are still pretty red, and whenever I see them I feel like crying. I just remember how excited I was on the anniversary of the promise I made. I feel the deepest possible disappointment. I feel betrayed. But when I’m cutting myself or wanting to die, it’s like it’s not me doing it. I’m even there, watching, pleading as another conscious entity tortures me. I’m losing my mind and I hate it. I want help from someone close to me. But I don’t have the nerve to try and get it. I’m ashamed of the cuts. I always was. I don’t know if any of my friends would be able to handle or understand the want for suicide, let alone my own unwilling obsession with it. I just…I want it to stop. I just want a stable range of emotions and a brain with the ability to let go. I want to forget.