Ruins

How far I have fallen from that once great height of imagined superiority I held as an early teenager. If I could see myself now from my eyes then, I would never talk to myself. I would condemn myself as ruined. How far I have fallen...yet I still seem to be in free-fall. When does it stop? Will it ever end?

Crying

I wish crying fixed things the way it did when we were little. But it doesn't. Oftentimes now it makes it worse because I have expended even more energy on a problem that I want to go away. I pretend to be tough and strong and able to fight my battles and the battles of my friends against their persecutors, but I'm not. When I'm alone at night...I crack. And I'm afraid that soon I'll break entirely beyond repair. I want desperately to cry for help...but no one can do anything even if I do seek help. I am the only one who can help myself but I don't know how. And everything in me screams that I don't deserve help in the first place.

Yet...

help me.

Tears of Blood

I used to think crying tears of blood was impossible. But now I've discovered there is more than one way to cry.

I've made it no secret to most people that I cut myself in order to deal with my pain. In order to deal with the images and thoughts that haunt me. I was a cutter. So what? Big deal.

Except it is a big deal. Because I still do it and have to hide it so I don't freak my friends and family out. Because it creates scars that I still don't know how to explain to my curious nieces and nephews and grandparents. Because I love it. I don't do it all the time. I don't depend on it for survival 99% of the time, but there is something intoxicating about it.

Funny thing is that I usually sit there staring at the blade in my hand before I even take the first swipe at my skin. Why? Because I'm afraid of the pain of the cut when it happens. Some cutters prefer the numbness that massive cuts bring and then detest the pain that comes as it starts to heal. I prefer minor cuts near joints so that the cuts stretch and tear and are constantly painful until they heal a good amount. It reminds me of my place in life. And it's deliciously delirious and distracting. A distraction that I crave when I am in the right frame of mind to cut myself.

I never bleed very much anymore because of where I cut now and because of how fat I am there/everywhere. Occasionally I get what I call a blood thirst when I crave large amounts of blood. To see, taste, smell and touch. But 99.9% of the time I can resist it because of that fear of the pain of the immediate cutting sensation.

Lately, I cut to remember to try to convince myself that I am a no one who is worth nothing. To block out images of the disappointment on the faces of those closest to me. To shut my mind against the image of myself not fighting back against them. To achieve a state of numb distraction.

I'm not suicidal. Most of the time. But 2010 hurt me more than I know how to tell anyone. There are so many lies and secrets and so much pain locked up in that year. It is all so fresh. I've never cried myself to sleep until recently when thoughts of suicide overtake me. They are so crystal clear and I can see everything I would need to do to accomplish the task. I cry because I know I am too weak and afraid to actually go through with it. And because there is a laughing voice in the back of my mind that says I should anyhow because I deserve it and everything else I've gone through.

And no, I don't need or want a lecture on how I don't deserve any of this. I've heard it so often it sounds fake and disgusting to me.

I don't know who you are or why you are reading this, but I'm messed up. Get over it. Because, really? Who isn't messed up in one way or another?