How hard the world is to me on some days. You tell me you are having a bad day and you say goodnight. You leave me alone to my thoughts and even though I want to beg you to stay, please, please, PLEASE! I say “Okay.” Because I can’t do that to you. Not when you finally think I’m getting better. Not when you have more important things to deal with. It gets kind of hard to breathe when all you want to do is etch another mark, just one, just one, just one. But no. He will see. He always does. He doesn’t react. […]
You know, my self worth is measured in scars. It’s measured daily with how much it hurts when someone hugs me. My worth is in the pain. How much does it hurt? Because I never do enough. I never make myself hurt enough that someone notices. The blood rushing down my skin from another scratch etched by my own fingers is a high you would never get enough of. But then I start to think that if I don’t scratch hard enough, if I don’t show how much I hurt, if I don’t make myself into a picture of living hell, then nobody will care. […]