Make Me Wanna Die

They gave me Prozac this morning. I feel like I’m crazy. Only crazy people need meds. God, I’m scaring myself. I want to cut so bad. I can’t cut, first of all, because I’ll get purple room. Last time I was here a little nine year old went crazy and started screaming and kicking. She got purple room and ended up needing to be sedated. That in itself scared me so bad. But as I was saying. It’s so hard not to hurt myself. I said a while ago that I’d explain what it feels like to cut, so here goes. It all started last week. I knew what it was like to cut, but it was hard to put it into words. I read a book on it while I was here. It’s a therapist explaining It perfectly. If I’m feeling too much emotion, as in crying, anger, anxiety, etc. and I don’t want to deal, I cut. It feels like I go into a trance, or something to that affect. I can’t explain it exactly, but it’s kind of like you can’t feel anything and you’re only focusing on the physical pain. All of the emotional stuff is irrelevant, even if only for a little bit. Plus, the sight of blood helps. It feels as if you’re letting the evil, letting the bad emotions out of your body. Literal release. People say “Find release.” Well, this is literally releasing, not just emotionally. It’s powerful. Also, another good point is that it feels like you’re punishing yourself. I feel like I’m the one who does this to myself, so I need to punish myself. I told myself for so long that if I was a better kid, my mom wouldn’t have left me. If I was a better kid, my father wouldn’t have told me to kill myself twice, or been an alcoholic. Maybe if I wasn’t gay, then he would love me. I didn’t know what to do to fix it, so I decided to cut until I could figure it out. Luckily, they didn’t have anything sharp in there. It’s addictive. I was a cutter off and on for three years. I’m looking at my wrist right now. It keeps breaking open and bleeding. I have to put new gauze and Neosporin on it twice a day. Well, I’m going to go sleep before group. Night!