Today is my birthday. I’m officially 22. I was born around 7 in the evening, only lived about 5 hours of 1993. What the fuck is so damn happy about it?
I have been trying to make the most of this day. I took a walk with my sisters to the park. Played on the swings like an 8 year old. I remember when I was that young. I chased around my little sister and nephew. It helped me forget for a moment.
I forgot that deep down inside, I’m fucking furious. Just that moment.
The urge to cut has been growing intensely. I don’t want to fall off the wagon again. Last night, I took my blade then placed it away again. I’ve been looking at the scars on my thighs from previous cutting sessions. I want to feel what I felt when I made those cuts. I just want to see myself bleed. Maybe the pain and all the horror of 2015 will leave me as I bleed.
I’ve had this fantasy of me laying on the cold floor bleeding out, watching my life drift away. I want to make it a reality.
I just can’t handle the pain. It fucking hurts so fucking bad. The pain just doesn’t want to go away. I want to see blood. I want to bleed.
If I don’t cut myself today, I will go out of my mind. I need this release.
I want to bleed…
2 comments
Happy birthday.
You’d crossed my mind earlier and I’d mentioned you in my audio message that didn’t want to work. Seeing this post of yours has affirmed (for now) that 2016 might not be so bad after all.
Take care in the meantime, y’hear? I’m wishing you the best in the year to come.
Thank you Shep