I can't help but want to cry all the time. I feel so incredibly dumb - seriously who the fuck wants to pour boiling water over their arm. I don't get these horrible impulses.
I'm writing this on my phone, and there's two cracks in my glass screen protector. They don't bother me / you can't see them unless you hold my phone just right. But I know they're there. And I know if I pull the screen protector off, I'll have razor sharp shards of glass in my possession.
Most people would see that as dangerous and throw them away. Not me. I see them as perfect instruments to slice through the milky white skin of my forearm and see what's below. I see them as a way to fulfil my love for the sight of my blood flowing. To me, they are slices of relief and excitement.
The problem is the consequences. Psych nurses really don't like the self harm part of the equation. And at that scale, I'm sure it would gain way too much attention.
I've already been threatened with being put in the little glass room with nothing but a mattress. Not exactly where I want to be. Everyone tells me that room is hell. But I feel like this is where I'm headed. I feel like I can't stop this train. I feel like I'm going to do something that they consider self harm, of worse yet hurt someone else.
I've been hiding in my room as much as possible. I've been avoiding people do I don't have the images of them with their throats sliced open and blood spraying across the room. I wear my hat when I know I have to be in a group, so that way I can keep my eyes off of the others.
That's it for now. Hopefully I can make it through the night.
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