I just felt like crying today. Then I felt like cutting. Â I traced the edges of my wrist with a blade, so now there are inflamed red lines on my skin. I don’t regret it, with scares me because I usually do. I’m listening to depressing music and it makes me somber because it reflects my life. I want to cut. I don’t find pleasure in the pain, I just want an easy way out. I need help. I need help. I need some fucking help.
I looked at the mirror today. Fuck, I’m hideous and ridiculously horrid to look at. I’ve cut earlier on my left arm. Seven horizontally and two vertically, overlapping the rest. They aren’t deep enough to bleed thoroughly but the scars won’t fade.
I’ve made myself uglier. Something’s wrong with me. I try to tell myself to see myself as perfectly as possible, with two legs and two arms, a head and two eyes. But I just make myself uglier. I want someone to make me feel beautiful and appreciated, but nobody does, even myself. Am I selfish and vain for wanting this?
I’m really tired. I don’t know why I’m still here. I want to be erased, not dead. I want the memory of myself forgotten, not just lost. I know I don’t deserve this. I’ve wasted so much in life with sex and secrets. I want to go back and change those. But could I? Fucking no.
I think I should overdose myself with those sleeping pills, it’s an appealing idea, especially now.