I fear what my hands will do. To others, to myself, to themselves... Always the nagging feeling to just pick up the blade. little cuts forming on my skin. my stomach, my hands, my arms. Is it my own hands or the possession of someone else's? And now, I fear taking off my hoodie. my gloves. taking my shirt off to change, risking some passerby to see. Everything hurts. I might have a migraine. But I just don't want this stupid pain in my chest to continue, I'm trying my best to redirect it to something less familiar. Just a foreign feeling would feel so new. And new would be good for me. I think. I hope. But I miss the feeling of love. I can't feel it for anyone here other than one person. And that hurts, too. The hunger is suffocating. Everything is, now. Up goes my shirt. exposing my stomach to the claws. They're going to stop nurturing us like little chicks out from their eggs. And they're going to leave us to fend for ourselves in their own home. And in does the blade go.
Remember that I do not condone these actions nor do I wish to romanticize it. I am but a teen trying to live through the trauma I have amassed from my parents and the stress of middle school weighing down on my mental health. It's not your problem, not your fault, and doesn't have to be. I have issues, not to mention my disassociation and other psychological troubles, but they don't have to be your issues. I'd appreciate support, but please do not provide me with anything else. Thank you in advance, whoever you may be. Stay alive. - Kes
