You watch me bleed…

Until I can’t breathe. I’m shaking, falling onto my knees. 

I’m sad. Maybe just more hurt.  I’m a cutter.  Well, no. I haven’t done it in a while. And before the last time I did it, it had been years.  That said, I’m a klutz. I get hurt often. I’m generally covered in bruises that I have no idea where they come from.  I’m so used to tripping and walking into things that I just don’t remember. People have asked me if my boyfriend beats me, my parents beat me, hell, if my cats beat me.  Tonight hurt. I was asked by someone I’m close to if I do it to myself.  I’ve never hidden my cutting from my friends. I never felt the need to. But I never ran around showing it off.  Honestly, most of the time I forgot about it.  I was so used to it that it was always there. I guess I figured that if there were questions, my friends would ask.  But if I ever said it hurt, I made it clear that it was my own fault because I did it myself.  Consequences of my actions.

I’ll be needing stitches. I’m tripping over myself. I’m aching begging you to come help.

I guess I’m just dumbfounded that he thinks so little of me that I’d do that. It’s one thing to make a cool, calculated slice across skin, versus bruising myself by randomly bumping into the corner of my bed, or kicking something and hurting my fucking foot.  What’s the last thing that I did to hurt myself?  I broke it when I punched the wall.  It’s feeling much  better, but still hurts.  It hurts constantly, but the most when I make a fist.  I can still feel tiny pieces floating where the bone had chipped.  Fine, yes. I did that one to myself.  I also flat out said, “I punched the wall. I punched it 19 times.” I admitted my stupidity, and am still paying for it.

Just like a moth drawn to a flame, oh you lured me in; I couldn’t sense the pain. Your bitter heart, cold to the touch. Now I’m gonna reap what I sew. I’m left seeing red on my own.

I was just shocked, so overwhelmed by the feeling of… mistrust?  I’m not sure what that feeling was.  Is. There’s hurt. There’s sadness. A lot of sadness. I’ve wanted to cry since he asked me.  I did a damn good job of not doing that. I am quite proud of myself for not breaking down. I’d like to think he couldn’t tell that I was on the cusp of a sob-fest.

I thought that I’ve been hurt before, but no one’s ever left me quite this sore. Your words cut deeper than a knife. Now I need someone to breathe me back to life.

I’m not upset that he cares. I’m not upset that he worries. Don’t think that I am. I’m just upset at how it made me feel. It’s funny. Ironic, even. This is the feeling that makes me want to cut. It makes me want to take my knife and slowly make a razor thin slit down my skin. But, I won’t. Because I just don’t want to do it. I mean, I do, but I don’t.


Don’t you get sick

Of only hearing your own voice? Talk like you’re so damn tough, but you’re just a little boy. You like to think you broke the mold, but now I’m sure.  You’ll crack just like the rest when I break your fucking jaw.

There are so many things that have changed in my life that I can never even begin to list them all.  I can say that I am happier than I was a month ago, two months ago.  I get to be myself, just me, not what I think people want me to be.  I still face fallout from it.  I was screwed over a few weeks ago.  Screwed over by my friends, again, I find the lack of surprise borderline amusing. Really, I actually find myself laughing as I think about it to write this out.  I knew it was coming eventually, it was just a matter of time.  It hurts, but it’s life.  I’ve accepted the fact that I’m not important. It’s just how things are.

I won’t settle, settle, settle. You are never gonna hold me down. So toxic, you ain’t nothin’ but a prick. I’m the best thing that never happened to you. Never, never, never, you are never gonna live this down. Life’s too short, I can’t fake it anymore. I’m the best thing that never happened to you.

Someone who left a long time ago once gave me “The most important piece of advice ever.” Maybe I should listen one of these days.  “Don’t ever leave something somewhere, or give something to someone that you can’t afford to lose.”  It was drilled into my head to never leave my heart with anyone that didn’t deserve it.  I never really did tend to listen to my betters.  I’ve loaned, and given, and left things that were important to me with people who I thought would take care of them.  Things including love, items, memories, secrets, emotions, trust.  I never get them back.  I want them back. I want it all back. I want my trust back. I want the pieces of my heart back. I want my secrets back. There are secrets I wish I hadn’t told people. They didn’t really deserve to know them.  I thought they did, but I’ve always been too trusting.  Trust tends to be what screws me, hey.

I let you get away with thinking you’re the cure. I think I’m in too deep, it’s time to pull the cord. You like me more when you think, I’m getting bored. I hope you’re home the day I tear down the walls.

Things have been better the last few weeks. I’ve spent time around people who genuinely care how I feel, how I’m doing, how my life is going.  They genuinely want me to be happy and healthy.  In the last two weeks, I’ve lost faith and trust in friends. I’ve given up on friends. I’ve become closer to others. I’ve helped friends through long nights. I’ve helped friends through long days. I’ve come full circle to a full year. And I lost what I’d gained. And there is nothing I can do about it.  I’ve gained good memories and bad. I’ve gained fear and sadness. I reconnected with a friend that I’d formerly had to cut out of my life. I have a stability in my brain that I haven’t had in years. The last week has been a little easier to sleep and less nightmares. I blame a few guys I know for that.  I’m okay with that. I think they would be, too.  They keep me laughing when I could be crying, and they remind me that I’m not quite as horrible of a person that I’ve been forced to feel like for the past two months.  I still feel like I’m a horrible person.  I’m not nice. I don’t do things that I should. But I won’t take blame for things that I have no control over anymore. That’s not my fault. And it won’t be anymore.

Life’s too short, I can’t fake it anymore

My year starts with an apology. Not mine. Someone else’s. When I get it, I want to talk to him again. But he’s more stubborn than I am, so I’m sure I’ll never get it.  But I’ll always wonder.