Hailey

The Cutting Diary
2011-08-06 17:58:23 (UTC)

Hodge Podge

August 6th, 2011. 12:58 PM

And here is where I try to put the hodge podge of thoughts that have been circling my head recently, but have lacked the energy/motivation to actually write them down.

Cutting is like sex.

Well, at least what I imagine sex to be like (it would really suck if cutting turned out to be better).

Lust: a tingle, and itch I have to scratch.

Foreplay: If I am in a place where I can not immediately take a razor to myself. then I stroke the spot with just the slightest touch. This sends shivers up, down, and throughout my body.

So close: pressing the blade to my skin builds so much tension. I try to savor this moment, because it's almost a delicious as the...

Orgasm: blade tears through my flesh, I can even feel it break apart the cells that make up the tissue. I fly higher than I've ever flown, my eyes roll to the back of my head. Sometimes I see white.

Maybe I have a blood kink, and that's why cutting is so euphoric. I'll have to remember to put that on my online dating profile. I like long walks on the beach (lie), picnics in the park (also a lie), and bloodletting (wish it was a lie).


As I may or may not have already implied, I do not cut myself everyday, multiple times in one day. Sometimes I do when I'm having a particularly bad week, but usually I only need to once a week.

But lately, I've only been cutting once every slice from the last time is healed. Once I can no longer feel the bumps and scabs, I want to whip out my razor.

Part of my thinks this is because I am so sick of cutting on my thighs. My thighs just aren't good enough. They only bleed really well in one place, and the feeling just isn't right. Where I really want to cut is my arms (because it really is the most satisfying), but I can settle with my shoulders. I could probably start cutting there again, the chances of us going swimming at this point are slim, but a bigger part of me still doesn't want to risk it. "Just wait till college" I whisper. But then I wonder where the girl I was in May went that hoped she wouldn't cut in college (seriously, some back you stupid bitch).

Or maybe I am starting to get over cutting. But then I think that's stupid. I still want to cut, the desire has not left, more like the energy has left (which is pathetic, because who lacks THIS much energy?).

As summer comes to a close, and move in day for college comes nearer and nearer, I see more of the things in high school that tied me down fluttering away. It's like, those years are finally, officially, behind me.

For instance, the whole reason I started cutting at the end of 8th grade was because me step-dad left and my family was in shambles (a pre-face of what was to come, if you will). Well now, mom is re-married, and as happy as I have ever seen her. Yes, Bryan is a total doof, but he is a good guy.

And now, Jess is gone. Jess, one of the biggest stresses in my life. I hated her so much that is hurt trying to hold myself back. How many times have I cut because just being around her negative energy threw me down? How many times have I wanted to scream at her?

But now, she's gone. She couldn't look at all the blessings in her life and decided she didn't want to be here anymore. And that is just fine with me. Fuck her. Now, I don't have to worry bout Daddy so much either. She brought so much stress on him (because your marriage is seriously a sham if you can't even tell your wife you got a speeding ticket because you don't want drama), and I'm genuinely happy that he can now be selfish.

All of this negativity that brought me so far down, is now virtually gone. Yes, my mother still has the ability to make me feel like I'm to stupid to function from time to time, but I'm moving, so I'm not counting that.

It's looking like I am truly getting my fresh start. And maybe I can actually stop cutting myself. Right now I'm not as hopeful as I was a the start of summer, but the hope still lingers. I still have a shot at this. Maybe I can finally move on.


You are a bad dog, Hailey, a stupid girl. Bad girl.

Lately, this is the sentence that the demons whisper inside of my head. Lately, I'm believing it more and more.

I don't really know how to explain my self-confidence. I have it, and yet, I don't.

It's like, I believe in myself enough to say, speak in front of a large crowd, but later I will kick myself for how stupid I sounded. And what will I do the next day? Speak again. Speak, kick, speak, kick...

So I finally managed to come up with this. My self-confidence is a tall, unstable, precariously built structure. Like, a bunch of steal pipes held together with string, tape, and gum. Slowly, but surly, this structure is being chipped away. Say something stupid, cut some string here, lying, poke the structure to watch it wobble. Sometimes I manage to repair it a little bit (a little but of glue here and there), but, inevitably, that doesn't last long.

After I came up with this metaphor, I thought, "telling someone I cut is like putting that structure on display, and, if they think I am insane, or an attention whore, or disgusting, they will essentially be round house kicking my structure, making it collapse".

This is true, and if someone makes it collapse, I am done for. I just know it.

I am actually slightly proud of myself.

This morning, as I nabbed my wallet to put in my pocket, a razor fell to the floor. Apparently it had stuck to the side while it was in my purse. I was not alone when this happened. I was with my mom, Bryan, and Sarah.

I am proud of myself because I didn't panic. If I had freaked and scrambled for it, then Mom would of defiantly known something was up. But I very casually bent over and nabbed it, like it was nothing more than a paperclip.

Inside, I was in full fledged panic mode. "Oh my God, what if mom saw? Did anyone see?!?!" I don't think they did, because I was far enough away, but still...holy fuck. I didn't even know I had any razors in my purse.

But, I didn't panic, and no one suspected a thing.

I wonder how I didn't. Maybe it was because I had just woken up and my mind was still foggy. Or maybe it was because somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that if I panicked, I'd be fucked.

All is right with the world. Yay me




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