And what is that something? Well, let me start by saying that yesterday sucked balls. Big, hairy, sweaty balls. I woke up in a bad mood - irritable and a little down. It got progressively worse. I tried to stop it. I couldn't. I went to the gym. I went shopping with a friend. And my mood worsened. It spiraled down. Lower and lower, out of my control. My thoughts became darker, increasingly more concerning. Suicidal thoughts started. Slow and insidious, they permeated my mind. I should have gone downstairs to box. I should have called for help. I did neither. I reached for a blade instead. And I cut. Not too deep. Not too many. Just enough. Enough to feel the pain, to feel something. Enough to feel something other than the bleak and all consuming darkness that was sweeping over me, threatening to crush me under its oppressive weight.
And so I cut. Six parallel slits. All the same length. All in a neat little row. On my thigh. Easy to hide. Not like my arm - I can't hide that at work. And they bled. And I cleaned them and covered them with a gauze pad that I taped down. And the emptiness was still there. And I didn't feel better. I stared off into space and wondered why these feelings kept coming back. I felt good on Wednesday. I felt normal and okay and happy and better. And yesterday . . .yesterday I did not. And so I cut. Because I didn't know what else to do.
Except I did. But I chose not to do it. I went against my better judgement. And I felt bad. And I felt guilty. And at the same time I wanted to cut more. To cut more and cause more pain and try to break through the darkness enveloping me. But instead I threw away the blade and cleaned myself and cried. Silently, I cried. And wondered what my problem was. And wondered why these thoughts still came. Why they came when I was feeling better.
And I thought. And I stared off and I listened to music and I told myself this was only a setback and that I would feel better tomorrow. I would feel better tomorrow. Now was bad. Tomorrow would be better. And the emptiness wouldn't be as deep and the despair would fade and I would be okay. I would be okay.
And I wondered if I did this on purpose. If I felt like this on purpose. If I made myself feel so bad on purpose. I've been told I do. That I'm scared of feeling better. That I find a reason to feel bad. That I do this on purpose. And I believe it. And I feel bad for it. And it all feels useless. And I wonder, why would I do this? I don't want to feel like this. And I try to think of why I would do this. And I try to find a trigger and I can't. And I try talking about it and writing about it and thinking about it and I can't see. I can't see in front of my face and it's useless.
And I don't want attention for this. I don't think I do. I don't like this. I don't want this darkness, this darkness that follows me like a cloud, even when I feel good. Even when I feel well. Even when I feel happy. If I stop for a minute, it's there, always willing to take over. Maybe it's my upbringing. Maybe I'm sick and twisted and am doing this to myself and I don't even notice. Maybe I want attention. Maybe I'm sabotaging myself.
And maybe I'm not. And maybe I don't know what's going on. And maybe all of this is right and I just can't see what's right and what's happening and what to do about it.
And so I cut. Six parallel slits. All the same length. All in a neat little row. And I cleaned them. And I cried. Because I didn't know what else to do. And I thought about everything and told myself that I was okay and that this was only a setback and that tomorrow would be better.
And it was. Today was okay. It was a good day. I felt good and I felt happy and I looked at my six parallel slits on my thigh and I wondered why I didn't cut more. Then I pushed those thoughts aside because I felt good and I wanted to feel good and I was going to feel good. And I did.
And this is only a setback. This is what I tell myself. I'm getting better, I am better. I tell myself I'll have setbacks, that every day is a new day. That I don't want to feel bad and I won't sabotage myself and I'll stay positive and I'll prove people wrong and yesterday was only a setback.
And I believe it. And I look at my six parallel slits. But still I cry.
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