Yes, I am. I’m actually doing very well, and that’s why this blog has been so inactive. I have my own apartment now, a full time job, and a wonderful fiance who keeps me uplifted. Thank you for asking after me.
Yes, I am. I still feel bad a lot of the time, but I’m trying to avoid posting about it. I feel like I just bother people.
I’m so sad.
How do you tell someone you love them and you’ll miss them, how do you say goodbye when you aren’t allowed?
There’s something sick, and twisted, and lovely
about running your fingers across skin stained white,
bright scars where you washed your own sins away,
where you can still barely smell the infection,
the stench that you carried around for years.
I can’t count the tissues soaked in red,
oozing blood that looked cartoonish,
like it couldn’t have possibly come from my body.
I loved the feeling of it and still do,
teetering on the edge of something deeper and nastier,
making baby steps across a no man’s land,
being baptized in warm blood and
watching my fingers smear the lines.
Then comes the itching, never letting up.
Your legs feel like washboards when you’re scratching
those little hills and valleys.
Even after tasting the blood,
metallic and sour like a Smith & Wesson,
even after flushing my rusted vices down the toilet,
even after retiring from the macabre and settling down
with a tidy 9 to 5 job, bills and family and responsibilities,
I still feel like a baby.
It’s almost jacket weather here and I have this feeling that I’ll tear my arms up again, and already tonight I’m fighting the urge to dig into my legs.
I am sad, deeply sad, but that’s not the real reason, not tonight.
My scars are faded and they bother me and I’m contemplating on whether or not to dress the cuts after I finish what I plan to do tonight, because infected cuts hurt worse, but the scars are prettier.
Am I sick? Does anyone else think this way at all?
I will probably be dead before my birthday rolls around. It’s 3 months away.
Do you feel yourself losing me? Do you feel me pulling away?
I mean, I wanted to, at first. I guess I was being a tease. If I wanted to, then it isn’t rape, right? But then I changed my mind…I don’t know.
"I’m so sorry…I’m sorry, you said to stop, and I just kept on…for all intents and purposes, shit…I just raped you. Shit, I’m so sorry."
It’s only been a few hours. I don’t know what to do. I really just don’t know…I don’t even know how I feel.
I just feel…weird.
When you still feel like shit even when people are being nice to you. When you feel like you don’t deserve any kindness or love. When all you can think of is how worthless you are. When you want to die.