arms. legs. whatever.

i am twenty-fucking-three years old. i should not be thinking about cutting. it's so stupid. i am not a child and i should be able to deal with my feelings, emotions, whatever in an adult way. in a grown up matter. i just want to cut. that's all i want. to cut. to press the piece of broken glass on my arm. to slice away at it. the blood. i miss the blood. i miss the scabs and i especially miss the scars they left. they're like pictures of a time when living was hardly bareable. when so much shit was going on in my head. in my heart. when living was a burden. once the cuts have healed that's when you know shit's okay. but once you're cutting. the moment your fragile, human skin starts to open up and bleed, that's when it all goes away. everything that is going on, all that shit that you want to not think about, is gone. that easy. cutting is hard to quit because it can so easily make everything bad go away. even if for just a second. one second. sometimes this is all i ask. to be okay for one fucking second. to not hurt. to not think about being the unlovable human being that i am. to not think that my heart is fucking broken in a million little pieces and it will take forever to put together again, and even then, it will be incomplete. it will have little pieces missing. it won't be the same. for one second. cutting does that to me. it makes me forget. it makes me happy. it makes me feel something else other than heart broken. i want to cut. so badly. i want this to go away. i want to cut.