I’m addicted to the feel of cold metal sliding across bare flesh Addicted to the instant when nothing marks smooth skin immediately before red rivers rapidly rise painting a once white canvas with a flood of emotion, tears on my cheeks, sobs caught in my throat, numbness replaced by pain & sadness. Addicted to the imperfection of red welts and dotted scabs that follow, fingers drawn like magnets to the texture of healing skin, tracing over and over and over now fading ridges Amazed that I am strong enough to heal myself over and over and over. Convincing myself that I am strong enough. I find strength in my weakness.
6 months self harm free! Writing about it helps fight the urge