surviving.

It's been two months that I've been on this depression medication and I do believe it's working. I'm not saying that I haven't had anymore crashes but they are much less frequent and further in between. I'm still covered in sin and wanting so bad to get out. I'm trying to find myself again, find my God. He didn't leave me, I left him. Never again.

New scars line me now. A switch from two blades made for a deeper cut than I remebered. I need to stop.

This is selfish.

medicated.

After the last episode I realized I needed help. I was falling so often and so hard that I couldn't climb back out long enough to take a breath. I received encouragement towards starting a depression medication which I eventually ended up doing.

It's been ten days since I started it and I haven't had any crashes yet. In fact, I feel rather numb. Sometimes I'm happy or just a nice content feeling, but other times I feel like at that moment I should be sad. I feel hazy instead; blocked somehow.

At least the episodes have stopped so far. Dizziness and drowsiness seem to be the side effects, along with the haze, the wet cloth that seems to be wrapped around my brain.

Let's see how this goes.

I just don't want to turn into an unfeeling zombie.

help.

Another breakdown. The sobs just rip out of me and the need to hurt is so strong. I can't speak, I can't look at myself in the mirror. I hate myself. I disgust myself.

I need to learn to love myself. But it's so hard.

I pray for help because I don't want to be alone. The blade stayed put but I used my own hands to break the skin, crying, begging my wrist to open up. Open up. Open up.

Open up.

But a small miracle happened. I prayed for help, and I received. All those horrible thoughts that ran rampant in my head stopped. They were muffled and I couldn't bring them back up. It was beautiful silence, a quiet calm, so peaceful. Thank you. He took it away and I was able to sleep. I stopped crying instantly. And I could sleep.

I was just so tired.

Thank you.

smooth.

You look so peacful with your eyes closed. Hands running across my arms and back, your mouth twitches with pleasure. Eyes flutter open and you look right into me, deeper and deeper you go. Smooth, slow, warmth spreading through both of us. Breathing is low and hot, there is no stopping now. One night of bliss, one night of sin.

Love, you have all of me so please don't break me.

calling.

It's been 4.5 months since I've hurt myself, or rather, since I cut myself. Wrist banging counts as hurting. The cutting is still hard to control, although this is the longest stretch ever since I started seven years ago. My body has spilt it's share of blood.

I'm going to admit, right now, that I am addicted to cutting.I'm in love with it; Action and idea. The white lines that lace my skin call out to me and ask for more. I need more. Just a few more, then I will be done. One long pretty one for my arm, maybe with some smaller ones criss-crossing back and forth, back and forth white stripes that blossom red, spilling over and down my arms, warm red like a lover's caress.

This is a problem. I can't let myself do it, but it's like a drug and it leaves me shaking and crying and begging on the ground. "Let it tear, let it tear" I cry, but there is a part of me, I'm split in two, that holds me fast, stays my hand. I don't let me cut it out. I don't let me feel the red even though I want it more than anything.

Not anything, there is something I want more. So much more, that I'm willing to stop trying to stop.

But my arms are calling...

bloodless breakdown.

I haven't been feeling my best this week, mentally and emotionally. Last night I must have been tired because I broke down after he left. The urge to cut open my skin was so bad but I was able to keep myself from sharp objects and get to bed before I did some damage. I think that is the key there, or at least it helps. Make myself fall aleep before things get worse.

The cutting is no doubt an addiction and although my scars are hard to hide and to explain, I find that I like them now and I want more. More and worse ones. I don't think this is a cry for attention, I just love the way the white stripes cross my arms, my back, my shoulders. They tell a story and they are like art and my body is my canvas. I know I shouln't be ruining my body. It was created for me to use and to protect and to cherish. A body is part of the reason why we came to the earth anyway. But I went and got addicted to the pain, the red that follows, and the white reminders that are left behind.

I hope I get better, but part of me hopes I carry this with me always because it's a part of me now, but a crutch. I know I need to be strong enough to get rid of it, and so far I've been doing reasonable well. The last time I cut myself was April 12, 2012. It's been 2.5 months. Let's see how long I can keep this up.

love.

I fell in love. This is not something I planned to do. In fact, I was trying my hardest to stay out of emotional attachments. I wanted to get to know people but mostly, I just wanted to be alone. I was in love before. A strained love, but still love. After that ended I wanted to just be me, not a couple. I wanted to develop me, learn to love myself, or at least tolerate me. But then I met him. He asked me to dance and later that evening he said he would like to see me again. I said yes, thinking that I could date him a couple times but stay single.

That first date I was immediately attracted to him and not just physically. He was smart and brave and wanted to help others. He had a big smile that was always on his face and an even bigger heart. He was the most positive person I have seen in a long time and I needed that. After that date I knew I wanted to see more of him but I felt as if I hadn't made a good impression or hadn't been interesting enough for him to ask me out again. I was wrong.

I got a message from him that he wanted to meet again and I couldn't say no. That night I wanted so badly to kiss him, or him kiss me but I told myself that I was not allowed to. I was not allowed to fall for this boy. Two dates later, he looked at me and said "I'm trying so hard to not kiss you." I tried to say something witty but he put his hand behind my head and pulled me into him gently. We were like matches and gasoline. I've never felt such a pull towards someone physically, emotionally and spiritually. It didn't take long after that till he told me he loved me. I didn't believe him, although I wanted it to be true. I was trying so hard to keep myself distanced so I wouldn't get hurt again. A few days later, I told him I loved him, and it was the honest truth. I loved him so fast it baffled me, but I knew it was true.

Now he comes over to see me whenever he has time and he plays me songs and sings words that make my heart melt. I don't want to melt, but only for him.

We share a trial that will be hard to overcome but I'm willing and ready for the challenge as long as he is next to me. Last night we had a problem. We ended up sitting on the floor, holding each other. We comforted each other and made promises to do better. To progress. I didn't believe the extent of his feeling till that night when I saw that tear roll down his cheek.

I fell in love. This is not something I planned to do. But for him, I will change my plans, because he is worth it.

scars.

I stripped down to my swimming suit, not remembering till after the angry marks that lined my thighs. An angel on my left, an apology on my right. I saw them look at the marks. The old and the new. I saw them watch my back, those raised white stripes are a curious sight for you, I bet.

I sat talking with him on the couch. I laughed and smiled and leaned my head against my outstretched arm. I saw his eyes flicker from one to the next, and the next, and the next. I slowly pull my arm back into my lap.

The hardest question that I cannot find an answer for: "What happened there?" I would think after all these years I would have a solid answer, but no. Sometimes I just want to reply, "Life." That wouldn't satisfy their curiosity. What happened? 

I felt.

I loved.

I sinned.

I hurt.

I hesitated.

I wronged.

I cried.

I kissed.

I touched.

I prayed. 

I lived.

red.

Red. A warning color designed by God for man. Red means stop. Red means injury. Red means warning.

I have come to love red. Red is an addiction that drips from my arms into the ivory sink. It fades from its angry mark to a pale pink, to a reminder of red. A whisper.

Red caresses my skin like a urgent lover. Opening my skin to let out my love.

My love drips red.

self destruction.

A big black E marks the place where I lay alone at night. E for empty, which is what I've been for some time now. Longer than I originally thought. Right now is when I need saving the most, but the sad thing is I know no one is coming. No one is coming. And the saddest thing is the hope that hides under my skin, faint and sickly. Half dead and being swallowed by hate. Hate for Self. Why I decided to live in self destruction, I may never know, but here I am pulling down lights and peeling off skin and breathing underwater until I'm dragged down to the bottom with my hair floating silently like a rope. Waiting for someone to come, but no one will come. No one is coming.