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Memiouars of a Self Injurer

I don't know, I guess I just want someone to read this. I'm afraid. I don't want this to happen, I don't want to slip up. I don't want all of this effort to go down the drain, like it has so many times before. I can't, but it's always there. My demon, rearing it's ugly head, dragging me down again. A regression into a shittier state of mind. It pulls at me, picking at my will like a scab, and when the dam breaks, and the blood flows, I will feel the euphoria unmatched by any drug, this is the perfect drug, with the most terrible withdrawl. I will have relief, if only for a while. Then, I will regret this act, this self destruction, spiraling downward, the pleasure in pain, the beauty in suffering, the relief in sin. My will is going to break, and i will fall once more, into the cycle. I know this; I accept it. I'm like a maggot, waiting for a metamorphasis that will never come. Just when I feel as if I will become something beautiful, I am destroyed, once more, stuck in the motions. I suppose, however, that maggots have their own morbid beauty. They get into your head, driving you crazy, causing a pit in your stomach. Then, when you cannot take it any longer, there comes a savior, flashing silver and crimson, like a personal Jesus. But then, he reveals his face, demonic and evil beyond comprehension. My own devil, decieving me, but I love him all the same, as he heals me in my self destruction. As it happens, this relapse, I realize i have gotten nowhere once more, and with that, I press the blade to my skin, regrettably, unwillingly.