Cut

Feeling this way only makes me want to cut. I've been trying so hard to stop doing it and to stop being ashamed of the scars I still have, but it's just creeping back up to me and it's getting harder and harder to resist the temptation.

Why do I even want to do it? I've never not regretted cutting, yet I feel like I always want to do it.

View Thinker #f40747's profile

It's an addiction, at least in my case. That cease in pain when your endorphin rush peaks. It's almost like a high. Though the fact that I always had to hide my marks made/makes it a little easier not to follow through with my urges anymore. Seeing the pain in others' eyes for me, that was always a killer. Try getting a diary. That was one big thing for me initially. Then I'd say try doing something physical. I know if I would go out and do some work of some kind, get all sweaty, then come home to take a shower, that release of everything melting away with the water was cleansing. Just visualizing all the stress running off my shoulders, it was amazing.

I hope you find an outlet. Feel free to msg me if you'd like, if not, no worries either! :)

Log In to Leave Comment

There's a small cut in the roof of my mouth, I can't seem to stop touching it with my tongue. It's odd because i know I need to let it be to heal, but I still can't seem to find a way to make myself stop doing it. even when I'm trying not to, my tongue finds its way there....

View Thinker #000000's profile

I want to be the cut on the roof of someone's mouth.

View Thinker #5f1f0a's profile

I've definitely been there. Any type of sore in my mouth I can't leave it alone.

Log In to Leave Comment

there's this sort of link in my head between getting piercings and sh. piercings make me want to cut. cutting makes me want to pierce.

i find both aesthetically pleasing. piercings are almost acceptable... i wear mine with pride on my face. cutting is not, so i wear long sleeves in the summer... but roll them up in the elevator to admire the way my arm looks. i have so many scars, they'll just fade away and blend in anyway.

i thought i was the only one that felt like this, until he ran his fingertips over my scars and said, "it's like a van gogh painting." i am not really sure if he realized that what he said made me smile inside, because all i could say was "what the fuck?"

maybe i just justify it because i'm way too old for this shit and yet haven't outgrown it. because it's shame wrapped in pride wrapped in shame. because that way it isn't "emo." because if it's scarification it's not shallow. who knows.

Believe it or not, I'm sick of writing on this subject.

But I just have so much trouble quitting.

I can cry hysterically for hours, or I can take three minutes with a razor to make the world right again.

I'm sick of being sad, but I just can't make it better.

I hate going to counselors.

In one class, my final project is to make a commercial promoting counseling services. How can I encourage others to go, when I can't even convince myself that it's the right thing to do?

And I want to study psychology.

How the fuck can I fix other people if I can't fix myself without a razorblade?

I never tried to get a hold of a friend for help BEFORE I cut.

I've told them after, but never before.

Tonight, I tried to get help. I sent a friend a couple of normal, casual texts, she responded. And that's when I tried to tell her I needed help. I needed her with me to make me want to stop.

It may be that she doesn't know about my cutting. It's not something I display. But I sent her a text that said, "I really don't want to be alone right now."

And she ignored me.

She didn't even have the decency to respond. At all.

Right now she is with the guy that she is dating. That is what is keeping her from helping me.

And all I want now is to do it again.

It's strange how cutting once can make you want to do it again, and again. The way the skin around a fresh cut rises, turns red, it's practically begging to be cut again. It's like it's moving toward the blade.

I never wanted to tell even fellow cutters about my habit, because my cuts tend to be small, hidden, and infrequent. I almost felt like the way that I cut isn't real cutting. Like I would be shunned because my arms aren't covered in scars.

Sometimes I'm so fucking stupid and weak.

And all of this makes me just want to do it again.

I think about it all the time. I wonder if it would make me feel better. Whenever my life is at a really low point I want to try it. When some of my friends used to cut they said that it made them feel better. I don't know why I can't do it. I've had the razor in my hand before but somehow I didn't do it. Knowing my family I'd probably get caught as soon as i did it.

View Thinker #000000's profile

It seems like a silly thing to do out of peer pressure. If you're unsure, then just forget about it. I doubt you'd regret sparing yourself the unpleasantness.

View Thinker #418656's profile

It helped me...past tense... I would never recommend that someone else do it.

View Thinker #77406d's profile

I'm not recommending it either, but if you do it, make sure that shit doesn't get infected. Also, small cuts without much blood can leave surprisingly large scars. It helped me, but only as a distraction, something I enjoyed. It didn't change anything. Of course, I'd probably being doing it now, if I could. (summary: -shrugs-)

Log In to Leave Comment

Some people ask you what your biggest secret is.... some ask after your darkest secrets. Others still will inquire into your most shameful secret.

The truth is I have too many secrets. My best hidden one is that i miss cutting. I truly miss it.

it saves my sanity, reminded me that something was real. It gave me an outlet nothing else could.

However, I could never go through the aftermath again. It was too much drama and too much sadness caused by my actions to keep from being so sad. I just miss the sensation of the lacerations across my pale skin.

Oh, to just cut again.....

All three of us had done it before, and all three of us yelled at the other two when we found out. We were all worried about the other two, and yet we were doing what the other two were worried about. We were all such hypocrites, but strangely it brought us closer together. It's a fucking crazy world.

Spirit crushed,

I sit.

I stare blankly.

What the fuck has happened to my life?

My world moves out of focus.

I'm home again.

But I can't stay.

Vision realigns,

I look to the table.

Saftey pins and needles,

Scissors and knives,

You are my sweet escape.

Please don't take this away.