I said earlier today I didn't need help. I hate asking for it. That is a trait of a self harmer I think, we hate asking for help but we beg for it at the same time.

I am on the verge. I can see the horizon ahead of me and it is full of blood. I can see the blades sitting on my bed begging me to touch them to my skin. They want me to bleed and bleed to create art on my body. But that is destruction. It is paradise for a brief moment in time and then suddenly your world is filled with darkness again.

I unwittingly refuse to go back there. I should cherish life. The world is beautiful, why should I, in all my insignificance, make the world ugly?

Self-obsession is the route of my unhappiness. I know this. I want you to care for me, to worry about me, to save my life. I want you to hold me and force my mouth to curl upwards; to smile. I want everything I cannot have. And because I know I cannot have you I want to destroy everything around me so that I only have myself to blame and I can ponder my mistakes and make the same ones again and again until nothing is left.