The stress made me relapse.
the day after new years eve,
i relapsed.
i broke my four months streak.
It didn't feel bad, or disappointing.
i didn't even feel guilt.
now I feel guilty for not feeling guilt.
But it was so good.
I relapsed two days into 2025.
and I knew it was coming.
having never been clean for that long before,
i knew I would come back to it.
it's my safe place, the pain, the punishment.

I want to get worse and to f*ck myself up and I want people to not know about anything until it's too late, until I am done, until it's over.

"That one person that reached out just before I was about to do it"
...
fake.
that doesn't happen.
In reality,
no one coincidentally reaches out at the exact moment you intent to do something really bad.
It doesn't happen.
In reality,
you sit there and hope it happens.
Waiting for someone.
A text, a call,
any sign that someone's thinking about you...
It doesn't happen.
You sit there
and wait
until it's too late.
And you realize
it doesn't ******* happen.

When I'm sick it's there for me, warming my ill body

And when I'm happy it's there with its uplifting presence to excite me

It warms my throat and heart

I devour it with sheer pleasure

As it fills me

I'm scared of people seeing them.
No one ever has.
Yet,
I wish someone would.
Because it would mean
That they see me.
The pain, the thoughts, the feelings.
Me.

I'm not scared of people seeing them.
they are not shameful.
they are beautiful,
they are me.
Who am I?

My past is in them.
the pain I felt
the thoughts I had
the feelings I felt.
That is me.

"The Scars do not define you."
They do.
A part of me is in them.
Therefore,
beauty is in them.

When you see me:
look at them
analyse them
What do you see?
Me.