a reflection (not really) on self-harm

this whole blog reads like a lie to me sometimes; it’s just so happy, just so not me. but perhaps this is the bipolar depression at play, and i must treasure the up days when they appear, and on nights like yesterday, just hope to survive.

what surprises me about cutting is that one does not get used to the pain.

menstrual cramps are a regular fixture in my life, and they are not any less crippling with each passing month. similarly, i still wince when i cut myself. i still gasp in surprise at the pain. i thought i’d be used to it by now, it’s been years of cutting after all.

image

what accounts for the difference between a cut that draws blood and one that’s merely a neat scratch? sharpness of blade, force.

I’ve noticed that cuts that draw blood occur under two circumstances – the opening cut, the first one, when you’ve forgotten how cuts hurt (like the song, yes), or, when the lights are off / my eyes are closed. i suppose it’s easier to be forceful when you’re not watching the blade, the same way people look away from an injection.

can it be less painful to die?

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