domingo, 16 de janeiro de 2011


I need to keep myself busy, and to distance myself from everyone and everything. I must stop putting myself through the same tortures again and again. All this time and I still can't help myself, I keep falling back to the same patterns.

I find myself fantasizing about slashing through my forearm, from my wrist all the way to the top, down to the bone. I have vivid fantasies about my arms cut open, slip from side to side. Ripping tissue from my bones, laying in pools of blood and pushing needles through my skin. I don't want to die, but living is driving me mad.

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