One cut too late.

It’s not really a decision; it’s more of a… necessity now. Not that I regret it, because I don’t. I know it’s what I deserve, and it helps me realize the reality. The reality in which there is nothing, nothing that I can do or say to be good enough. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking to be modelic, or popular… I just wanna fit in, you know? To be able to wake up in the morning and know that you’re loved, to know that you have people that care and think about you. To be able to look in the mirror and say “yuh know, I’m alright. I’m happy with who I am” But no. It can’t be like that…it will never be like that. IT started off as just an experiment. A harmless, little slice. But that harmless little slice turned into four jagged cuts….and those four jagged cuts? They turned into several deep incisions. Yes it hurt, but it was a good hurt…a rush… I would sit on the floor in my bathroom at night, with my knees tucked into my chest, and my favorite blade pinched in between my thumb and pointer finger. First cut I’m not good enough. Second cutI will never, ever be good enough. Third cut I will always hurt, I will always be ugly. I like to watch it, the blade slowly severing through my skin, and the blood scuttle to the surface. Haha. Have you ever felt that, that significant revulsion for yourself? That genuine hatred, where the world feels so vast and you feel so… trivial? That never-ending torture? I feel it every day. It lives in me. It’s like cancer. There is no cure.