Incision

For the first time, I am thinking about harming myself. It is a kind of cry for help but just the thought of it seems so comforting. It's terrible, because weeks go by from days when everything is almost great, then I'm down again, then I'm in a good mood again... at least I'm not bored? Unfortunately, or fortunately, or whatever, the scissors are too blunt, so there is a thin scratch above my ankle, which is slowly swelling up. Why am I so prone to self-destruction? Feeling sorry for myself, starving myself, turning negative emotions inwards, and now cutting myself? Somehow I can't bring myself to express my feelings outwardly. To be angry at someone else, to blame society for my problems. To take it out on my friends or my parents. I don't want to burden them with my problems. I will be fine. Someday. Maybe. Is physical pain better than psychological pain? What about the scalpel I use for bread? Would that work? After several cuts in the same wound with blunt nail scissors, a thin trail of blood finally appears. The red line, no more than two centimetres long, is beautiful in a bizarre way - it is a shimmering contrast to the pale skin that adorns it like a small warrior's tattoo, even though it is the opposite: a sign of weakness. Proof that I have succumbed to psychic pain and have instead resorted to physical pain. Why, then, do I feel almost proud when I look at it? I run my finger lightly over the dried blood and stroke it admiringly. Another one.