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butterflyStealing the idea of using a song lyric as my subject heading.
I recut over the newest mark. It's on my wrist, easily covered up by my watch. Like the first cuts I ever made, only length-wise this time.
You can only really bleed out if you cut length-wise you know.
Not that I'm seriously considering that.
I just. Wanted to mark down some of the thoughts that I had while I was cutting. So that I can think about whether they can be considered anywhere near rational.
"always cute. never pretty. can never ever be pretty. fat. overweight. useless in any case."
"wish I could cut off all my skin."
"be anyone else. just not me."
It's not about the pain. It's about the blood. Pain is... useless. It only reminds you that you're weak. Blood is real. Blood is proof. I'm not quite sure what of.
I imagine what would happen if I died, killed myself, whatever, sometimes. It always ends with everyone forgetting.
They always do in the end. They forget. You hurt and when they find out, they're nice for a little while and then they go back to ignoring you. They send you flowers and cards and then never bother to actually spend time with you. And maybe it's your fault.
In 8th grade, I invited ten girls to my birthday party. I rented movies, had a professional Mary Kay make-over party.
None of them ever invited me to their birthdays.
Is there something wrong with me? Something that makes me so easily forgotten?
If I killed myself, I wouldn't even be around to see the brief attention.
But it hurts so much. Even now, it hurts so much.
And I tried. I tried freshman year in high school. I tried so hard. I got good grades. I was on the volleyball team and in the choir and in the group at church. I tried so hard.
And a boy publically wrote nasty things about me. And I wasn't ever mean about it. Not even in my head. Not even after everyone forget about it and forgave him but kept ignoring me.
What did I do wrong? Why didn't people like me? If they had told me then, I would have changed for them. I would have done anything. It hurt so much to be ignored.
It hurts a hundred times less to cut my skin than it did to walk down the halls of that school, smiling and just wanting someone to notice that I was screaming inside.
I still don't understand. What's so wrong with me? Why?
It hurts. Sometimes it hits me again and I can barely breathe. Because I can't cry out loud. I can't make noise. I can't.
No can know. Because even worse than being ignored would have been everyone knowing how much it hurt me. So, hide in the bathroom and cry, but never be loud and never let anyone know about it.
I'm so tired of all of it. That's really the only reason I would ever consider killing myself. Just to make it stop. If only for a minute.
It still hurts so much.
I recut over the newest mark. It's on my wrist, easily covered up by my watch. Like the first cuts I ever made, only length-wise this time.
You can only really bleed out if you cut length-wise you know.
Not that I'm seriously considering that.
I just. Wanted to mark down some of the thoughts that I had while I was cutting. So that I can think about whether they can be considered anywhere near rational.
"always cute. never pretty. can never ever be pretty. fat. overweight. useless in any case."
"wish I could cut off all my skin."
"be anyone else. just not me."
It's not about the pain. It's about the blood. Pain is... useless. It only reminds you that you're weak. Blood is real. Blood is proof. I'm not quite sure what of.
I imagine what would happen if I died, killed myself, whatever, sometimes. It always ends with everyone forgetting.
They always do in the end. They forget. You hurt and when they find out, they're nice for a little while and then they go back to ignoring you. They send you flowers and cards and then never bother to actually spend time with you. And maybe it's your fault.
In 8th grade, I invited ten girls to my birthday party. I rented movies, had a professional Mary Kay make-over party.
None of them ever invited me to their birthdays.
Is there something wrong with me? Something that makes me so easily forgotten?
If I killed myself, I wouldn't even be around to see the brief attention.
But it hurts so much. Even now, it hurts so much.
And I tried. I tried freshman year in high school. I tried so hard. I got good grades. I was on the volleyball team and in the choir and in the group at church. I tried so hard.
And a boy publically wrote nasty things about me. And I wasn't ever mean about it. Not even in my head. Not even after everyone forget about it and forgave him but kept ignoring me.
What did I do wrong? Why didn't people like me? If they had told me then, I would have changed for them. I would have done anything. It hurt so much to be ignored.
It hurts a hundred times less to cut my skin than it did to walk down the halls of that school, smiling and just wanting someone to notice that I was screaming inside.
I still don't understand. What's so wrong with me? Why?
It hurts. Sometimes it hits me again and I can barely breathe. Because I can't cry out loud. I can't make noise. I can't.
No can know. Because even worse than being ignored would have been everyone knowing how much it hurt me. So, hide in the bathroom and cry, but never be loud and never let anyone know about it.
I'm so tired of all of it. That's really the only reason I would ever consider killing myself. Just to make it stop. If only for a minute.
It still hurts so much.
