I don’t understand why I cut sometimes. My mom used to always ask me why I cut. I just told her: “I don’t know.” I just feel like I need to.

My therapists asks the same. Why do I feel like a disappointment to my parents, my friends, my family? Because I am a disappointment. There’s no if’s, and’s or but’s about that. I just have this constant buzzing in my head screaming that I’m a disappointment.

If I could stop, I would. I don’t want to risk the idea of losing my dream career over scars from a past. I want to survive and tell the next generation about how awful such an addiction is. But how can I do that when every night I feel like I don’t want to wake up in the morning?

I’m looking through the medicine cabinet for a hope of finding something other than cough medicine and Advil. Something with the actual potential to kill me.

Some days I want to give it up. Other days, I stare at the cuts and smile and hold pride in them.