Dear whatever the fuck this is, i was addicted. Tonight i was listening to a piece of music and everything fucking flashed in front of my eyes. I had an addiction. I was never addicted to alchohol or drugs, but instead to the fine art of cutting my wrists/arms. I cut daily. I cut when i felt like it. Bad day? Cut. Good day? Cut because life couldn't be better. I loved watching myself bleed. I loved watching myself just press the blade through my skin and tear it to shit and back. I loved just laying crying on the floor, bleeding all over the fucking place because i felt like noone loved me. The only thing i did not love? Myself. I cut not for a fucking five-second high, but because i wanted to just die. I wanted to die in the most painful way. I would often cut until i saw stars and got dizzy. THAT was my high. THAT was my love for myself. Never once did i think. Never once did anything matter while i was cutting. The only thing that mattered was getting to a free state of being where i could be me and live without pain for a change. I was in so much fucking mental pain. I just thought that temporary pain would equal heaven forever. Just a little more, just a little more, i would say as i cut, the blood seeping from every single wound i had inflicted. Often i would do terrible things just to prolong the pain, or the sensation of being alive. I wanted to feel. I wanted to feel alive. Just to be, just for a second. I hit rock bottom so long ago. Sometimes, like now, i want to relapse so much. I want to relapse so fucking badly my heart hurts from the strain. I have tried so much to come around. At times like this, i feel hopeless.
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