This Is Where I Scream From

Everyone has someone else in their lives that can make them hate themselves. Everyone. You have someone that with one word can run a train so full of self-loathing that, if kept on the wrong track, an cause a collision so bad that the only result is inevitably self-destruction.

The can make you want to scream, cry, become violent, and in my case, they can make you hurt yourself. Yes, it is unfortunate and I do know better, but I’m not sorry that I do it, and I’m not going to pretend that it doesn’t hold some relief.

I’m not emo, and I’m not some desperate kid looking for attention. I do it because I like it.

There actually is a technical reason why it helps, and what makes it so addicting. You break the skin, the blood comes seeping through, and it releases endorphins. It’s that release I’m addicted to. That moment of pure energy, crimson-coated and smooth, flowing out of my self-inflicted incisions.

For most people, this person is someone to be hated. Nobody likes someone that makes you want to tear off all your skin. The exception would be me. The person who makes me want to paint the entire world red with the blood in my veins is the same person who makes butterflies appear in my stomach. The same person who helps me with all my problems. The same person who makes my heart swell. The one who makes me want to tear apart my chest, rip out said heart, and hand it, bleeding, over to them with a smile on my face.

Then, with just a returning smile, they can make my blood run so warm that I crave the flow of it even more.

I am Frank Anthony Iero.

I am a cutter.

I am in love with my best friend, Gerard Way.

This is my story.

A story of pain lust, blood, and unrequited love. Razor blade love, and this is where I scream from.