I'm asked so many times why I cut myself. I honestly don't know the exact purpose. But I do know what it feels like to carry the scars, to watch your hand control the blade that makes you bleed. I can tell you all the details about having to deal with this addiction.
I swore to myself that I'd stop. I promised so many people that I'd quit hurting myself, because it hurts them too. But I'm stuck in this mindset that, no matter who says they care, they don't. They just say that to make me tell them the lies that I believe them and I've stopped. I hate breaking that promise, but, as an addiction, it's painful to try to stop.
I guess cutting is a way to immediately rid yourself of the disgust and emotions building up inside myself. The fights, the tears, all that stuff. I write, yes, but sometimes, there are no words. There's no way to describe certain feelings. And sometimes I don't know how to say it. So my body insists on me releasing the indescribable feelings. Hence, a broken heart on my leg. A round bump on my left wrist. Or maybe open sores on my arms. Either way, it's self -harm.
But I don't know yet if I want to give up my addiction. I feel so terrible when I cut, but I also feel relieved. I can't scream, can't cry, so I feel so unburdened when the blood starts to show. So I'll continue to try to stop, for the sake of my friends.
