cutting and wishing for yet fighting death

I want so badly to hurt myself right now. I want to tear at my skin first with my nails and then with a knife and I’ve never wanted it so  badly before. I both want to and don’t want to at the same time. I want to attack the soft completely soft and smooth and unmarked skin on the underside of my forearm because it will be a work of art and I long to see the angry raised red skin that will appear after a long nail session, then the red that will bleed when I get my razor out… I want it so badly right now.

But it won’t be enough. I know that. It will lose its novelty far too quickly and I will become tired of it and annoyed at myself for marking my skin so obviously and it will all just go wrong. And then I will take more drastic measures and the cuts will get deeper and then that won’t be enough and then before long my story will be over far too quickly and that will be it. And, as appealing as that sounds, I know I can’t let it get that far. I want to, so badly.

I want to shred my skin to pieces and then finish with those final cuts. But I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t. I am determined to make my life better, I know I can do it. It’s so hard right now, but I have to remind myself that this isn’t going to last forever.
I have been pretty much a total recluse for the last week and all I want is for someone to drag me out of it but nobody’s coming and I know I must rely on only myself, only I have the power to save myself and I must remember that. But it’s just hard to get back up off the floor, to move at all, to form words or beauty or anything of importance. And all I want is to cut but I can’t. I have to make myself better but I have to do it alone and I don’t know where to begin. All I know right now is that I refuse to give into the temptation of cutting myself or killing myself.

I have to fight this and I must fight this alone, for it is my (for want of better word) battle and I know I must win, whatever it takes.