I cut myself over 20 times earlier today. I’m the victim, and the abuser. It’s not my fault this time; the voices made me do it. They said it was either cutting or an overdose. I know they can make me do both, a few times I’ve overdosed because of their instructions, and most days I cut. So, I shall repeat my earlier confession. I cut today. All of which were deepish. Not gaping, but those ones where each side doesn’t quite reach the other – so things can get in. Not good. I hope I don’t get an infection. I wrapped some toilet tissue around it and used sticky tape to hold it in place. Hopefully, it’ll do.
But sometimes, I get so scared. I’m afraid of how easily the voices can take control over my body. I’m afraid for Jeremy. I’m afraid of the amount of damage I can do to myself, whether on or not on their orders. I’m afraid of how it’s going to heal. I’m afraid somebody else will find out. I’m afraid nobody will ever know. I’m afraid I’ll forever be the disappointment of everybody. I know I’ll never be good enough, and I worry that no one will ever love me. And sometimes, I’m afraid that my body will be coated in the scars my littered cuts will leave behind; because each cut means less self-control.