My parents want to “do something” about my cutting.
Meds. Hospital. Therapy. Doctors. Psychologists. Mental Hospitals.
All just makes me want to cut more. Who the fuck even decided that I wanted help? Who decided that I needed help? I don’t give a shit. I want to cut, deeper and deeper until the only reason Im in the hospital is because they’re trying to revive me from my successful suicide.
Every time I hold a knife, I think about pulling up my sleeves or pant legs or shirt and just start searching for blood. I’m fucking sick of it all.
I just want to cut. Until I’ve lost the strength to cut more.
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