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,” just as 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.