Sometimes I miss the feeling of putting a blade to my skin. The sensation of the sharp edge slicing through my skin. I love watching the blood come to the surface. It looks like bright red droplets. The blood never runs or flows too heavily. It just looks like beads of blood. Some times I just stare at it. I don’t like wiping it away. I like to look at the mess I inflicted. When I cut myself, I feel like I’m releasing the pain slowly from within. With each cut, I gain a little relief. I love watching the scars turn a bright red. Sometimes the cuts heal so well, you can’t even tell they were there in the first place. In high school, I learned that if you put cocoa butter on it constantly then it’ll heal so well that you can’t even tell it was there. My right arm never cut as easily. The left arm was always the place to go. I still have some scars that I attempt to partially cover with tattoos. Every time someone asks to see my wrist tattoos, a part of me hopes they see my scars. My entire stomach is covered in scars. I used to count them in high school. I remember having 27 cuts on my wrist and over 100 on my stomach. I had to stop counting, because it was just too much. I love pain. It’s funny because it really doesn’t hurt. Kind of like tattoos, I feel no pain when I have the needle piercing my skin. It’s soothing actually. I fall asleep every time basically. Maybe I just love being inflicted with something. It might be why 50 shades of grey intrigues me.
I read something interesting on tumblr. It really got to me. “Who hurt you so much that you started to hate yourself?” Let that resonate in your mind. Just think about. Do you remember when you started to become insecure? Do you remember when the self hatred started to form? Your own worst critic is yourself, how did it start? I think back and I don’t remember when I started to hate myself. Maybe it was all the slurs from my mom. It’s ironic, she’s always been overweight yet she always called me fat, a cow, a pig. She blames me for her being fat. She said when she was pregnant with me she gained a bunch of weight and could never lose it after having me. I let her believe that, but it’s not even close to true. She was super skinny when I was little. Anyways, maybe it was her always saying I need to play sports and lose weight. I played soccer and softball. I never lost weight, because of the food my parents cooked us at home. I remember one time me and my sister were staying at my grandmas house. It was after Deedee had passed away and we were sleeping in her room. We swore she was still in the house. We could hear and feel her presence. Anyways, me and my sister had gotten into a fight and she told me I needed to stop eating because I was fat. So I took a piece of paper and made a pledge saying that I would be anorexic. Maybe it was society and seeing my sister be praised because she was skinny and pretty. Maybe it was all the doctors saying I weighed too much for my height and age. Maybe it was all the movies and television shows that portrayed being fat as a terrible thing. If you aren’t skinny, you are not accepted. Honestly though, I can’t remember when my genuine happiness ended. That question really fucked me up.
When The jerk fucked me over I became brutal. I take no shit now. I’m honest as hell and I don’t think twice about sugar coating shit. I texted him and was like “are you still detached?” He didn’t get the question, so he called me. Not going to lie, I cussed him out at first because I was trying to watch Law & Order. Anyways, I told The jerk he ruins himself by harboring all the pain from his past relationship. The fact that he couldn’t move on is what ended us. The fact that he can’t let the fuck go and be a man is why we can’t really be friends. He doesn’t even try to move on. Why is he so stuck on his terrible relationship? If it was so bad, then why can’t you learn from it and grow. He really needs to do some self reflecting. I told him I’m tired of having generic ass conversation. If he wants to talk, then I need a conversation with depth. And once again, he wants me to come to his place to chill. I told him I’m not trying to chill at his house and watch Netflix just to sit in silence. He will most likely be too into the movie and then doze off like always. If I’m hanging out with someone, I want to talk. I want to discuss their thoughts and feelings. I also told him that I believe he’s homophobic and so fucking extra. He thinks I’m being soooo hilarious. I’m sure I’ll get a text saying I hurt his feelings. I’ll shrug my shoulders and ignore it. I also told him I was like him for a couple of weeks, detached and harsh. Then I told him I grew a pair and moved on. I’m not going to let a guy get me down and fuck up my chance at finding someone else. Then he asked if I was pursuing a relationship with any guy friends. If I was, what is it to you? Ha. Guys are so stupid.