I want to cut.

I need to cut.

I miss cutting. 

I miss the scars. 

I miss the voices. 

I miss the deep spiraling depression.

I miss feeling out of control.

I miss feeling. 

Why do I miss being sick?

I thought I would be happy when I wasn’t depressed anymore, but now all I feel is emptiness. 

Where feelings of fear, anxiety, and sadness used to live, empty space echoes revealing what is lost.

I miss it all.
And I know I shouldn’t.

A numbness of
emotions
I hate to be feeling.
The reality of my
sanity
is something worth concealing.
But the thing about life is it ends.
The thing about life is it…

-b.b.