(Cheeky little vent)
My girlfriend of 14 months broke up very shortly after she’d learned I cut semi-regularly. She scratches herself, occasionally to the point of scarring, a lot to cope with various parts of her life. As of recent, she’s begun to stop thanks to my help. Regardless of that, the stress of family, friends, grades—all the expectations—make life unbearable if I don’t have some release in the form of cutting. I know it’s disgusting, I know what I’m doing is repugnant; however, my urges don’t seem to think so. Unfortunately, I cut my arm for the first time, which she saw instantly, and she proceeded to interrogate me nonstop about it. And now she’s gone.
I’m blocked on everything, which is insane given the promises she’d made and many various points.
I don’t really blame her. I’m ugly as fuck—no smarts can overrule that—and incise myself like a fucking idiot regularly. Death might not be so bad. There’s one people I can’t leave yet, though: my band. The music keeps me alive, mostly, but it’s losing its power compared to the easy way out. I just wish I was good at something; there’s always someone better than me in every way.
It’s been a week, she’s moved on to someone else. As for me, I can’t seem to cut deep enough. I don’t want to see her face ever again; I don’t want to hear her name reverberate through my head like a bell tolling; I don’t want a momentary whiff of remembrance to rush everything back inside to replace the essence gushing out my cuts. I’m not too far gone, I hope, yet. It feels better to get all this out than bottle it inside. Have a good night, y’all.