Confessions of a Self Harmer

I didn’t cut for a few weeks.
Almost a month.
My older sister and I had gotten into a fight.
A big fight.
I screamed at her.
She screamed back.
We hated each other.
I couldn’t remember why I hated her.
But I did.
I hated my little sister too.
So I yelled at her.
I was just so mad.
Maybe if I just cut another small cut it would go away.
But it didn’t.
I was still mad.
I was still sad.
I was not okay.
I thought about pushing a little harder.
Was I brave enough?
Only one way to find out.
Just a little more pressure.
And I cried.
Not because of the pain, although it did hurt like crazy.
I hurt because that added pressure made me feel better.
I felt like I could control what I felt.
Instead of rage I felt pain.
I made myself feel it.
No one else.
I felt like I was in control of myself for the first time.
And I was addicted to the feeling.
And maybe,
I was addicted to cutting.
But I would never admit it.