Thought flow; unexpected. Fairly safe. I saw a psychologist, and she told me to think about why I wanted to cut, before I did it. Tonight and friend and I had a conversation, that bled into suicide, that bled into apathy and sociopathy, that bled into sadness. I haven’t cut in three weeks. And I haven’t now either.
I want to cut because what I said is true, about the spark, and sometimes something dies, or flickers, and I want to compensate, I want to bring something back
Or I want to create something that might work, might substitute
I want to cut because Jeff hurt me, and I don’t know what to do about it. Because him hurting me, him saying those things about death and lack of meaning and about how I love him, and I don’t- it struck.
Because I am struck.
Because I want to feel the pain of being struck.
Because I have been away from Loki, from god, from spirit, for a long long time, and I’m doing it the lazy way- (I suppose)- shocking myself into needing him back, it back- into bringing it back by danger.
Meyer wasn’t crazy when she said two words about finding danger to bring the lover back. But t isn’t the lover so much as the love, the sanity, the compassion, the feeling for other people.
I’ve wanted to kill. Shortly. Rabbits. They wander on campus, and I want to see red blood seeping on white blood. Animals have never meant a thing to me.
I hope humans still do…
Because maybe if I hurt myself, it will bring back the human.
I want to cut because maybe doing so will throw me over the edge. I have a strong grasp on sanity, I’ve been growing stronger, I know I am a very strong person. It would take a lot for me to kill a person, it would take an immense amount for me to find my way into a mental hospital- or any cage, I think; it would take a terribly huge amount of effort on my part, neglect on others, and damming of happenstance to cause me to kill myself.
I want to cut because I enjoyed the rush of Wes. Because I associate cutting with Wes. Because I like to believe monsters are my friends. That maybe I am one.
There was an episode of Family Guy in which there was cult suicide. We party differently, and it isn’t cool, not to me, but it’s an art form, it’s a different side of the spirit, and it’s one that creates its own sanity, in darkness.
I’m afraid it will ding at the end of the line, like in Skype, where talking someone down hurts, and realizing its talking you up hurts, and everything hurts, and everything makes me hurt. And everything makes me afraid.
I want to cut because it will prove that this happened, and I want the proof.
I want to cut because it will mark something out of it, that I may be able to make good… something I can look back on as an art work, as a win, maybe, even just as a lovely giving in.
What is good about cutting?
It makes me go a little more insane.
It gives me a few more words to say.
It gives me more meaning to my words.
It makes Jeff matter, because he never has enough; and it makes how I feel about him legitimized, matter more too, it takes notice of how much he hurts me- which no one notices as well. How much I’ve done.
In a year.
I cut because it is a sign of the hardest things in my life, and the fact that I have both lived through them and touched other people through them.
So yes, I cut because I want it known that I have done a great amount of good in the world. I have carried sadness, I have waged wars with and from sadness, I have lived in the underground, and it looks different now because I have done things that no one has seen.
Except for those down there.
I want to cut because it’s a milestone.
I want to cut because it’s a curse.
I want to cut because I like my curse.
I want to cut because I don’t want to be normal.
I want to cut because I so much want to feel what those who cut feel. Because sensation is curious, emotion is curious.
Because I don’t believe the world gives us anything we can’t or shouldn’t work with.
Self-harm is a tool; it’s a bridge.
It has an “other side”.
I want to cut to see that other side. Because there is no one to speak.
And I don’t want to speak, I want to hear and let that say everything it needs to.
I want to know because I want it known.
And I want there to be, in the speech of sadness, in the marking of lines along sections of skin, a way to change, a voice that pushes back the darkness.
Something that tells us, all of us, that it is not too late. That some of us can be saved, to happiness.
I cut because maybe cutting carries an ounce of happiness.
I wrote once that I cut for courage.
I wrote once that I cut to hold back the dark.
Because there is so much bad in the world, and not even optimism or hope can kill off corporations and chemical weapons and idiots.
I cut because maybe darkness can.
Maybe insanity can cut through chrome humans.
Or if it can’t, maybe it can set us free.
My biggest fears are people; and hopelessness; and not being able to prove who I am and how I feel; and who I am and how I feel and what I want not being exactly how it should be for what my soul is, what my life is, what my heart says; and those who enslave us in rules we don’t even understand and don’t know we take part in; and then again, how easy our minds fall into it, and follow along; and how hard it is for anyone to say no
Because it doesn’t mean anything.
I cut because nothing will happen if I don’t, and nothing will happen if I do; because something may happen if I don’t, and something may happen if I do.
I cut because I have read about Loki, and sometimes completely arrogant and pretentious things are said, and they’re tainted with lust and genius and something like strength and truth- and some such words are “I do what I want.”