Tw for all the bad self harm things. This will be borderline incomprehensible
It wasnt a severe relapse, only scratched myself up a bit with some scissors. Only a little blood. I didint do it for the depth i just NEEDED TO HURT. mna i needed to hurt i needed that release. Im not being hurt anymore. I am trying to get hurt i want to be hurt but i can’t.
I can’t talk to anyone. My partner is suffering in all the right ways and i’m pathetic. He hurts in all the right ways. Every way that would make people turn and say “i’m so sorry” all the ways that are supposed to hurt. It is bad that he is being hurt but its the ight way to hurt. He is being hurt . he has a million reasons to feel hurt because it is a billion outside forces. My excuses are running out. They’re old and stale and i’m getting old and stale. And i just get worse no matter what. I just deteriorate and deteriorate i want to get worse i need to get worse i crave it i crave her i need her to hurt me again i need it to be bad please. Fucki need it so bad . i hurt in all the stale disgusting ways and it is pathetic. I am pathetic. My partner is hurting in all the right ways and i am jealous of him being abused. I am jealous of him being abused becase i wish that was me. I wish i was being abused i need to be like that i need it worse i need it so much worse. Maybe that makes me disgusting but i want to hurt in all the beautiful ways like him. As always he is beautiful and i am nothing.
He writes poetry. My suffering could never be poetry. He can twist his experiences and his feelings into something so beautiful. My suffering is not beautiful. It is contrived and complicated and stupid. My suffering is not poetry. He writes poetry from his suffering. All his millions of reasons, his millions of experiences can wind into something beautiful despite how much it pains him. I have a fistful of experiences. A fistful of words cannot make poetry. Some people say anything can be poetry. Maybe this counts, in some sick way, as poetry. But it is not beautiful. Not the way his is. Does it make me a worse person to feel jealous? Is it bad? It makes me feel bad. He writes poetry and i could never write poetry. I could never find the words and i could never find the beauty. I wish i could find the beauty. I wish i could express this in any way other than something so gross and offputting.
I just relapsed and have nobody to talk to. Its 3am and im shaking and i have so much overdue work and my counselor can’t find any days to fit into my schedule to have meetings and i still haven’t told my parents anything and i’m getting tempted to start sleeping with my mother again just to feel something. Even if it is the unease that comes from her putting her hands in weird places it would give me so much comfort. I just want it back