This Is What You Asked For

I’ve been asked before why I cut myself, and I’d never wanted to tell anyone, because I can’t find a way to say it without breaking down, but as I sit in my bed, in my room all alone, I can finally answer that question.  I do not want to die.  I know that makes no sense, for me to hurt myself in order to stay alive, but let me explain.  I can’t live like everything is okay, because it’s not.  I take in everything, every name I’ve been called, every rumor about me, every story that isn’t true, and every event that has ever affected me.  It’s all sitting in my mind, carving its way out of my head,  into my skin, into me, who I am.  It shapes me, and I hate it.  It’s so painful when you realize what people think you are, and when you realize that they could be right.  I can’t deal with that pain, and in the end I settle for a different pain, one that stops all this madness.  The scars, the cuts, the bruises, they’ll all go away in time, and so will all these feelings, but I can’t stop doing it now, it makes everything seem so unreal, so much easier to deal with, and I don’t want to die on the inside.  I need this to remember who I am.