There's this bleeding wound...

No, no, wait, it’s not that kind of a story, another confession of a misguided emo self-cutter. I’m not even talking about an external wound. It’s a damage on my brain. You think brains can’t bleed? Think again. That wound isn’t big and it doesn’t always hurt, but it’s placed in the center that’s supposed to deal with important decisions. I guess it’s a bit like a dying light bulb – makes you think it’s strong enough for producing just enough light for you during the polar night, when the dark doesn’t stop until you go completely mental. But no, its light is far from enough. It lasts until you get to the door in hope to run away, and then… It magically explodes, it dies and you’re left facing even more dark, countless black dots in the far distance. Yes, that’s what my wound is like. I think I have this great solution for a problem, and sure, it works for a few hours, sometimes even days, but in the end it just leaves me dealing with a bigger problem made by that exact decision and then… it burns out and leaves me in the dark. So, why don’t I just cure the damn wound and start making better, more realistic decisions? The problem is that I don’t know where the wound is. There’s bleeding all over the place, but i can’t stop it for long enough to determine the cause of it, the position of the cut, nor can I remember when I have been hit. All I keep doing is treating the consequence of the cause, not the cause itself. It’s probably because I’m pessimistic (but then again, how am I supposed not to be pessimistic with my brain swollen and red?), but I’m pretty positive that some day, maybe some day soon, maybe in a few years, my brain is going to drown in its own blood, slowly shutting down, and I’ll go down by the only two things I could confide in my whole life: my brain and my cuts.