Just a sick game?

I stayed up all night reading every entry you had made. I felt out of place–guilty even. I feel as if I have been given a little window to your head, your heart. It thrills me that you’re just like me. Hurting so badly, but hiding it so well. We are different though. You have so many friends who support you, encourage you. I have just me. I’m scared of what you’ll do. What I’ll do. I’m scared of this whole world. Of my life. Running saves me. Feet pounding the ground, lungs bursting, until the pain becomes real. The pain I crave, am addicted to. I haven’t run in a long time. I fell. My knee is messed up. The horrid urge to cut is seeping back into me. Just a week ago I proclaimed to myself that I was better now. The thought of cutting seemed so abhorrent. Now I long for the deep slits on the underside of my wrists. I sit in bed shaking trying to resist the urge. Has that ever happened to you? I feel like a failure. I was better. Yes, I was better. Is it all because I haven’t ran that I am feeling likes this again? I long for the blood dripping down my wrists. I long for that release. For how it makes me feel like it’s all ok. I long to end my own life. Would you do it too? No, you would pretend like it was a stupid idea. Which is the real you? Do we both walk around faking? Is the whole world full of fakers who seem happy but are watching themselves being torn apart inside? Is the world really such a horrid place? Is everything really this bad? Or do I just make it this way? Is it all just a sick game in my head?