and this is me, apologizing profusely for the myriad of new red lines crossing tangling up my arm. And this is me, breathing deeply for the first time in weeks, clutching my makeshift knife in barely trembling fingers. And this is me, proving you wrong, proving everyone wrong who said You don't need it. and this is me, with nothing to complain about but a fucked up sense of relief. this is me, feeling guilty for letting you down while at the same time beating myself up for not cutting deeper, what the fuck are those half assed barely bleeding scrapes if youre going to do it at least do it right at least make it count.

It isn't a matter of quiting I wish I could tell you I wish i could tell anyone it's just a matter of the time in between, how long i can pretend I've stopped for good.

Here is what i really want, I want to press so deeply that i dont have to think for hours i don't have to be in my head, I hate this ephemeral relief that's already flooding out of me because it's been so goddamn long and i am so goddamn stressed out.

fuck I can't even i don't feel this it doesn't even sting and that more than anything scares the fuck out of me it doesn't sting not even a little where is my where why doesn't it hurt why isn't it taking me away why is does my chest still hurt more deeper need now pull and I hate myself for hurting you this isn't your fault why can't you why doesn't anyone understand me when i get this way

i hate myself so fucking much but i know that somewhere there is ap art of me that I like i can't stand god I need this to go away god god god this is me apologizing because I am so fucking sorry i'm breaking my promise