Sometimes I feel so terrible all I want to do is to slice my skin and sit in the pool of blood and fall asleep and leave. I've tried that so may times but I always heard the knock of my parents telling me to hurry up in the bathroom because my sister needs to brush her hair.
I miss the cutting, slicing, blood, hurt, pain, stinging. All of that. But I don't miss the way I felt. Empty and lonley every second of every day.
The nights were the worst. The quiet gave me space to think and the seemingly endless time I had in the cold bedroom made me feel even more alone than I really was. I got the illusion that cutting helped. I tried it once to see if it did and I thought it did. I didn't mean to slice again but I did. Every day for two years I would hurt the empty canvas that was my body. When I wake up, before I go to sleep, before after and during showers, at three am when I can't see the blade or my wrist.
Sometimes I miss cutting and that makes me sad. Sad that someone can miss something so painful and horrible. That someone can crave and be addicted to the hurt and blood of your own body.