Me Too.whenever i get upset...no, even remoresly unhappy, agitated even...i get the urge. and i always give in to the urge, my master, my power. If i'm at school, if someone upsets me, i cut. At school I use my compass, i cant make real cuts but the scratches have significance too. But when i cut, i want to see blood, my own river of me...the pain flowing from my body, I want to see my troubles released from my skin. I am never satisfied until i can witness the droplets forming, rolling down my skin.
My blood, my problem.
My skin, my problem.
I have never spoken to anyone about my cravings, i hopefully never will, sharing my story with strangers make me feel like an even bigger freak, but also like a little bit of pain has left me, but without the need to bleed.
I never cut my wrists. that's too easy. too obvious. I go for places that are strange, some that hurt, others dont. I like to disguise my scars without patterns of emotion..,number the scratches...
I like the feeling of the first incision, gliding it across the skin, feel that sharp tinge of the blade popping into your skin then the relief that comes after as blood drips onto the floor.
i dont know if the urge will ever leave. For now, cutting is my power, it is the one thing in my life that i can control, the one thing that I have the power over, i can cut my own skin, and nobody can make me stop, because this is MY skin. my body.