The human species is strange, for many a reason. But the most baffling one is how someone can want so badly to cause themselves physical pain.
I mean, think about it. Other species don’t do that. Lions don’t wake up one day and think “I’m going to purposely run into a tree with my head until I bleed. I love bleeding.” The rabbit doesn’t ponder whether or not it should be caught in the jaws of said lions.
But we, we are different. Not all of us, but a few. We wake up and think “I’d just love to take a razor to my skin right about now.” And I think that is bonkers. But it’s who I am.
My natural instinct is to do this to myself; whether it be punching myself, hitting my head into a wall, or taking sharp, shiny metal and trying to push it into my skin far enough to create caves, I want to do this.
When I am in any type of emotional stress, I want- no, I need- to hurt myself. I don’t know why, but I do. Crying makes me feel weak. Crying doesn’t help, not even for a moment.
At least cutting helps, if even for just a moment.
Sometimes, I’m not even stressed, I’m just numb. Sometimes I just see someone else’s scars and think that mine are pathetic, I can’t even make scars right. I can’t even cut enough, or deep enough.
And then I think about how messed up that is. How messed up I am.
Then I want to cut some more. It’s really an endless cycle in my head, and honestly, it gets old. I don’t know how to make it stop. Sometimes I fear the only way to make it stop is to be dead, and fear is a strong word. It’s more like nervousness, because I don’t really think I -or anyone else- would mind me being dead.
This post is so long, and so NOT formal, or normal. I am so sorry. Here I am apologizing to… who? Does anyone even read this? Oh god, I’ve reached a new level of pathetic.