Because I Could Tell You A Million Reasons Of Why I Want To Kill Myself Before I Could Tell One Of Why

Same.

I keep finding myself missing those fresh streaks of scarlet lining my arms, feeling the warmth as I watch my blood ooze from my skin. I miss the healing cuts that turn different shades of red, brown, and purple. I miss the roughness of the scabs catching the fabric of my shirts, the twinge of pain that accompanied it. The soreness the day after a relapse, the sting when I wash them in the shower. The itch when the scabs start falling off showing the fresh new scars underneath.

I miss it, and yet I hate it. I hate it so much. I’m disgusting.

hey, you

yes you

listen to me

you are worth it

you’re worth all the effort someone may have to put in

you’re worth the doctors visits and the copays

you’re worth late night phone calls and hugs when you fall apart

you’re worth whatever it takes

you’re worthy of life

i know you probably won’t believe me

but i swear to you it’s true

i love you

please please message me if you need anything

it doesn’t have to be me but reach out

someone can help

there’s always someone willing to help

and you deserve it

Me: *intentionally cuts and massacres my legs for years with no problem*

Also me: *cuts finger open in a cheese grater and instantly faints*

“I fall too fast, crash too hard, forgive too easily and care too much.”

— unknown (quote of the day 2)

Me: I don’t give a fuck

Also Me: *gives way to many fucks*

Ok but same.

sometimes i wish my scars on my left arm where much “worse”. Cause now my mom knows i sh and she would notice new scars. sh on other places never gives me the same release as on my left arm and I hate it.

Relapsed

I relapsed today. I was almost a week clean. I relapsed for a stupid peice of shit who doesn't give a fuck and can never understand me but I expect them to do so. I'm such an idiot. I keep getting myself hurt