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.