I need a new razor blade

I used to cut. Not a lot, just every now and then. The pain helped relieve the emptiness inside me, gave me the strength that I desperately needed, and also helped me punish myself for my mistakes and inadequacies. I had this really sharp box cutter that would cut pretty deep. But after my mom figured out what I was doing, she took it, along with my stash of industrial chemicals that I was saving in case I decided to make another attempt. That was almost nine months ago. Most of my scars have faded and are barely noticeable now, except for one scar which is almost a year old but stands out as if it were brand new. I miss the feeling that I used to get from cutting. I suppose if I wanted to I could always just use a kitchen knife, but that isn’t as sharp and wouldn’t cut nearly as deep. I think I’m going to buy a new box cutter, just like the one I used to have. Except this time I’ll do a better job of hiding it.