-Silence
March 13th, 2011, 08:46 PM
Sounds horrible to say, but I miss cutting.
It's been almost three years. You'd think that I would be over this, right? I'm 23 years old, I have a son, I have a family, I have a job, I have all that I want right now so why do I want to slice my arm open? How can it be so long since I've cut yet just the thought of cutting feels normal. I spent seven long years cutting, when I threw away my blades I thought I was done. Sure, the occasional thought would come around - but not like this. I find myself staring at my scars wishing that I could make more. I see a bare spot on my arm and I'm dying to drag a razor across it. I'm imagining myself wrapping it up and falling asleep holding my arm like in the past. I'm desperate for that relief and it seems like lately nothing is filling it the way cutting used to. That's why I'm posting here, trying to atleast get it out. Talking to Ben about it would terrify him, he's been there when I was like this. And the crazy part of this is I'm not depressed, it seems like I'm too busy to be depressed. I think I just miss who I was. I was a mess but somehow that mess feels alright. I don't know, maybe I just liked feeling taken care of, maybe then for a moment I wasn't the one holding everything together.
Just thinking, I guess.
It's been almost three years. You'd think that I would be over this, right? I'm 23 years old, I have a son, I have a family, I have a job, I have all that I want right now so why do I want to slice my arm open? How can it be so long since I've cut yet just the thought of cutting feels normal. I spent seven long years cutting, when I threw away my blades I thought I was done. Sure, the occasional thought would come around - but not like this. I find myself staring at my scars wishing that I could make more. I see a bare spot on my arm and I'm dying to drag a razor across it. I'm imagining myself wrapping it up and falling asleep holding my arm like in the past. I'm desperate for that relief and it seems like lately nothing is filling it the way cutting used to. That's why I'm posting here, trying to atleast get it out. Talking to Ben about it would terrify him, he's been there when I was like this. And the crazy part of this is I'm not depressed, it seems like I'm too busy to be depressed. I think I just miss who I was. I was a mess but somehow that mess feels alright. I don't know, maybe I just liked feeling taken care of, maybe then for a moment I wasn't the one holding everything together.
Just thinking, I guess.