I've began cutting myself... It's too addicting to stop... I'm sorry, God, and the redt of humanity minus my mom and my fucking dad— I'll begin writing tomorrow. I'm ashamed and horribly uncomfortable with myself. And I'm wearing long sleeve cloths! Da hell! Seriously! It's like 465° out there!
----- Somewhere, on the other side of the world, somebody's suffering like me. We share each other's pain. The thought of it simply disturbs, yet comforts me. I'm happy to know I'm not the only one dying inside... Maybe one day, when God decides to turn me inside out, the world will see my faded grey soul, decorated with cobwebs and a dematerializing butterfly. ----- I regret cutting myself. These white, little scars are on my arm, everywhere, in fact. Crossing over each other, in a war to turn me into broken porcelain. Everytime the pair of scissors make a craft on my wrist, some scars fade away. Some don't. God's silently erasing them, telling me to not do this to myself. I can't help it. I do it by accident, really. I get carried away. When my mother screams from the other side of the door, I glance around the room. When my gaze lands on the scissors, I gently take it off the shelf and tip toe to the bathroom, where I begin my little incoherent routine. Where should I start? On my wrist, forearm, or legs? When the blade touches my skin, the chill metal relaxes me as I began guiding it across my arm. Another white scar forms, and another. It happens until my entire arm is full of them. I wonder if they'll turn red again. The next day, my innocent white PJ shirt is stained with something. Red. It's on the bedsheet, the blanket, and mostly, my left arm. Should I panic? It's a school day, after all. Or should I just skip school like I did the other day? This fever is getting really bad... I'm tensing up and cold all over! Lord, what should I do? Will I die from this plague? I'm under the influence of cutting! Of course, I shake my auntie with my right arm and tell her I'm sick. Will she keep a cutter's secret? Of course. An hour later, the bedsheets are clean and I'm in a red T-shirt. My arm has a gash on it, but everything's disguisable with a proper makeup artist. Should I call one? No thanks. A simple bandage will do. ----- Oh dear, it's leaking out. Whatever am I going to do? This helpless girl in my photo is staring back at me with the life filled eyes and silky black hair. What am I now? I don't know. A mannequin, perhaps? I heard that corpses are the new mannequins, looking fabulous behind those shop windows. Can they do that to me too? Pretty me up and set me on a chair, giving me this stylish pose? Add a tinge of pink, maybe pastel, to my cheeks. Something florescent, something to persuade the shopper to buy what I'm wearing. Besides, the clothing of the dead is so in season. I'm basically dead inside! What's the difference? While you're at it, please do put a shade of peach on my eyelids, madame. I need to look pretty to my shopoholic mother. ----- Drugs. What good do they do? Non, ma cheri. They are worth nothing compared to my scissors that cut a person's soul and innocence. The ultimate weapon. It kills you, inside and out. It's a stamp, telling us that we have no reason to live. I wonder if that means I'm suicidal... Sadly, I'm religious. Oh woe is me, I'm trapped inside a cage between life and death. I ask you, do you have this passport for me to move on in life? Shouldn't death be the next stage? I guess God has more surprises up his sleeve for me. But, I told you. I surrender, foul beasts! Thou who wish upon me harm, I surrender! Cowardly exit, and a traitorous remark to all of humankind. And I call myself a misanthrope? Please, I'm no better than an Earth hugging hippy. With that said, darling, book an appointment with my scissors, and get me a latte while you're at it. ----
You're probably thinking that I cut myself today... But no. I didn't. :/ That's because I'm disgusted with myself. Wow. Self disgust is a more powerful feeling than temptation and addiction.
Pain. One of my favorite words. It can affect a human in three ways, three strikes. Your mind, your body, your heart and soul. It doesn't always only affect one of them. You can experience two pains at once, maybe three if you're really unlucky. I guess you could say that it comes in a deluxe package... Maybe it's playing mind games with you. You're hallucinating and you feel little needles prickle your self-esteem and dignity. You're humiliated inside, and those needles don't only wound your ego, it does to your skin. Like a syringe with a powerful sedate substance, the liquid violates your bloodstream in a way. It can do powerful things to your mind, put images that will scar you either temporarily or permanently. Or maybe this special sedation will break you down, little by litte! You feel numb, everywhere. Maybe this needle is the only thing that hurts... Hmmm... Maybe the sedation does nothing. Maybe it just kills you from the inside, and it's poison spreading everywhere. Veins turn green and purple, hey, that's physical pain for you. ... So... Which pain was it again? ^w^;; (No offense, that was supposed to be another story.)
=_= I feel like shit not telling you the reason why I'm doing this to myself. One second, my mom loves me, next, she doesn't. We start arguments so frickin' much that I dreamt about suicide more than thrice. A lot more. The only thing that prevents me from ending my misery is being religious. Not to mention, my "mom" is the only one that loves me. =_= and don't mention my dad. He aint capable of this emotion called "love". As for my nanny, we're constantly bickering. She throws anger tantrums everytime I "talk back" and in the end, I maybe get a bruise on my leg because of one of the items she throws. I'm pretty sure she's bipolar.
That's too small for me to read... I also cut myself sadly the only people that actually care are just a handful of my dozens of friends.