ππππ ππππππ’ πππππππ ππ:@damascusDoctorate The final sign of madness. I put the bottle down and I looked in the mirror. I had no idea what the balance was between being out of my mind enough not to feel what I was about to do, and being in my mind enough to do it properly. I don't think I put the lid back on, but it was empty anyway. Did I drink that much? Nevermind. I have to get this right. The open razor was just where Dad left it, shiny enough to reflect light, but not shiny enough to see my face in it properly. Good. I didn't want to. I took my glasses off, knowing the arms would get in the way, and I planned out where to start. One of my felt-tip markers would do. I traced a clean line in green ink around my face, from the top of my forehead to the front of my ears down to under my chin. If I couldn't make myself hold this body together, I'd teach myself a lesson and get it right the next time. God did I underestimate how much it would hurt going in. It cut just as cleanly as I wanted, but that didn't make it any better. I stopped, and bit down onto the back of my other hand as I tried to keep going, but I barely cut a centimetre before I had to stop. I couldn't see properly anymore anyway. My vision was blurring from the water in my tearducts and I didn't trust myself to see through them. Nevermind. Maybe that'll be a start, anyway. And if it's not enough, I can always try again later. Later? What later? #cw-self-harm #substance πΌπππππ’ πππ
don't make me remember
You don't get that luxury.
I want you to remember You need to heal.