I told my friend that I’ve been having intrusive thoughts about hurting myself. Like, I fantasize about the blood and stuff. She’s supporting me now, but I feel all alone. Why couldn’t I be born without mental illness? Why do I have to see and hear things and twitch and be manic or depressed? Why must I take my medicine?
Well, I have to take it in order to survive. I’m not being dramatic. I’m being realistic. I literally have to take my antidepressant or else, I’d have at least a suicide attempt on my hands.
The only person that would comfort me left my life, and now, I don’t know where to turn. I want to pick up cutting again, but I’m scared to. It’d be an addiction for me. It’s a ritual for me.
I have to take a shower after I cut. I know, but it cleans the cuts, and I feel…. I feel like after I’ve done such a bad thing, I want to be clean again. It sounds odd, but that’s how I feel.
This is just a depressive rant…. Let me stop…