So right, yeah. I stopped. I’ve stopped. No cutting, which is true, I haven’t cut. But yesterday I did something I haven’t done in a long time, actually two things. First, I actually acted out my feelings in front of someone else, my mom, the stress and panic came spurting out, screams,tears and all. I hated it. I felt so vulnerable, so raw and exposed. I haven’t cried outside of my room like that for a long time so naturally I ran away to my room, all I was thinking was that I needed to stop crying, that I was feeling way too much. Next thing I know I’m lighting matches and pressing them to my wrist, no hesitation, not once. Now I have three  holes in my arm. So no cutting? I must be doing great, didn’t even make a bloody week without pain.  Even better news? Debs in two days, with fresh burns on my arm, in a strapless dress, wonderful and again, all my fault.

“I hear so many stories about how we need to suffer. We need to feel pain to live, to grow, to become stronger. But everytime  I need pain, everytime I break my promise I feel like I’m dying,  I see the blood I feel like I’ve gone back to the start and when the sting eventually comes I’ve never felt so weak, not because I cut myself but because I didn’t have the strength not to.”