In a knee-jerk, habitual way.
Just felt…off suddenly. Calmly reached into the back of my desk drawer for my “emergency blade” (that I also use to do marketing stuff for work as a cover) and automatically go to the bathroom.
Back stall. Lock the door. Make sure I’m alone.
Drag it across my hip.
And I fucking sighed in relief at the pain of it.
It disturbs and disgusts me how easily I fall back into it. It rots me inside. I hate it. I hate myself. I can’t shake it.
It’s been fucking months.
I went through the whole stressing of buying a goddamn house and moving in and didn’t self-harm one time.
Things are not extremely bad. I mean, they aren’t all sunshine and unicorn farts, but they aren’t awful.
I don’t understand it. But the sweet relief I feel now is the same sharp, sugary, melting feeling it’s always been.
I hate this.
And I can’t stop.