{apparently there's a reason i've been so depressed lately}

it is coming up on a year since the last time i sliced a blade across my own skin in order to heal my tattered heart. 

a whole year

my God 

how.

how? 

he said it was possible, swore wounds could heal 

i didn't believe him

she vowed i'd be better without the blades, one addiction down at least

but am i? 

in two and a half weeks it will be a year. 

i should be overjoyed

but it's as though each day i go without it simply adds another stone to the pile which i must cast off of me before i am allowed to go back to tearing myself apart to mend. 

and with each day that passes, the overwhelming urge to cry becomes stronger and stronger. 

there is not a single untainted expanse of skin on my body - from shoulders to upper arms to forearms to calves to thighs to stomach to back to breasts to even the knuckle i sliced one night while prying open a disposable razor simply for the sense of security afforded by accessible sharps. 

and suddenly it hits me - sucker punching so hard i am breathless speechless shocked

i miss it 

i miss it, and it makes me want to cry. 

i miss the punishment, the bracelets upon bracelets, the overwhelming calm watching my skin split in two. 

i miss it. 

i miss the scars, the long sleeves...i don't miss the mess, but i miss the feeling of mending. 

and i want him to be wrong about the wrist-nick (the night he made me throw out the blades) not counting as a relapse, because i don't want this burden of almost a year clean ... i want to go back... i want it back.. i want.... i want.... 

i almost cut vertical on Good Friday - opened my entire vein. 

the first time i did that was two years ago when he broke up with me and i stopped caring whether i lived or died.

and they don't tell you how incredibly triggering scars are, nor how badly you will long to reopen them. 

they don't tell you 'if i could cut, i wouldn't have to starve'... they don't tell you 'there's no way i could tell them i still struggle with this, because God, i should be over it' 

they don't tell you you'd rather hide open wounds under long pants than have to answer the stares and pokes and curious questioners. 

Plumb knew what she was singing about.... 'i do not want to be afraid / i do not want to die inside just to breathe in / i'm tired of feeling so numb / relief exists i find it when i am cut' 

Britt Nicole... 'maybe making me bleed could be the answer that would wash the slate clean' 

i mean... 'are we out of the woods yet?' because it's been so long and i shouldn't still want this but I do... i do, i do, i do... 

i want it so badly i can barely breathe and it comes like a tidal wave and suddenly I am drowning gasping for breath 

and 'if you love me let me go because words are knives and often leave scars' and i am struck with 'the fear of falling apart' 

if you ever wonder what words the blades whisper, go listen to Pain by Three Days Grace and you will understand everything. 

'i'd rather feel pain than nothing at all' i am freezing and fire licking my veins feels better than ice because 'this life is filled with hurt. when happiness doesn't work trust me and take my hand. when the lights go out you'll understand' 

can i, please, please, please have it.... if i swear to you that 'this will be the last night feeling like this'...'i don' want you to see me cry, i'm fine'.....'masshope is a huge trigger, and i'll join the rest of the teenagers that he says remembered their long sleeves' 

i am exhausted and am i really supposed to maintain this whole recovery thing, while eating, without somehow otherwise destroying myself? 

my mind is either starved into numbness, or screaming. 

'no one will ever see this side reflected and if there's something wrong, who would have guessed it?' 

'so lay me down in darkness...my knees can barely hold me up...you've gotta walk a mile to get out of my head'

i miss the high, i miss the blood and torn skin and God that sounds morbid and terrible and awful, but it's oddly alluring watching my wrists weep blood... 

and the words of Jeremiah haunt me...'how long wilt thou cut thyself?'

i don't know... i don't know... i don't know... 

and yet... 

'new occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth
they must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth
Lo, before us gleam her campfires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be
launch our Mayflower and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea
nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-stained key'

*sigh*