Old Habits Die Hard

I have done it again. This time deeper. Wider. Longer. Bloodier. I can’t remember why. I can’t remember what I used. How I did it. Where I did it.

But I do remember the pain AFTER the injury. I remember having to have my leg bandaged for three days. And after three days still cleaning up blood. I remember having a severe limp. People would ask me what was wrong, and I’d just say, “Oh, the weather these days really does a number on my hips.”

My boyfriend questioned them, but only briefly. We are both so accustomed to seeing scars on eachothers’ bodies. Sometimes I wished I had met someone who wasn’t so similar to me. But then again, it’s always nice to have someone who understands.

Every day I want to cut more. There is rarely a reason. I just look at something sharp, or something hot, and I WANT. It’s addictive. More addictive than marijuana or tobacco I think. It’s been almost 8 years, and I still can’t stop. It hasn’t gotten better, it has gotten worse. These scars aren’t like the others. These won’t fade with time. They will be with me forever. It saddens me that once again I’ll have to cover up in the summer. Can’t blame these on the cat. No more beach trips. No more water skiing. No more wearing shorts on a hot summer’s eve.

I regret them. And yet, I want more.

So this is what it’s like to be an addict…