Love is an easy word, used carelessly. Felons and creeps can offer it coated in sugar, and users can dangle it so enticingly that you won’t notice it has things attached — heavy things, things like pity and need, that are as weighty as anchors and iron beams and just as impossible to get out from underneath.
It is nine at night. I have something to say. You are so valuable. You shine out. You are a magic star. You are a body of blood made beautiful... How I admire, sit back and adore you. How thirsty I am for that. How you feed me.
‘I wish I could love,’ cried Dorian Gray, with a deep note of pathos in his voice. ‘But I seem to have lost the passion, and forgotten the desire. I am too much concentrated on myself. My own personality has become a burden to me. I want to escape, to go away, to forget.’
My name is Gabrielle and I am twenty-eight years old. I began to self-injure at age fifteen -- so nearly thirteen years minus a two year period. This website is one about self-injury (self-harm), made to let self-injurers know that they are not alone and to help their friends and family learn more about self-injury and how it affects their loved one.