My favourite colour is

Tw self harm 

Remember that blade I took? The one I wanted to take for a long time? I used it. And it was so sharp. It cut deeper than I thought it would. The blood was everywhere. Everywhere. No one else will want me now. You said you were my friend. You said you’d be there for me. And then you fucked me over. Deny as much as you want but you fucked me over. You’re a shitty friend. You’re a shitty person. It’s deeper than I thought. Oh God, it’s deeper than I thought. I can’t stop the blood. Just a light graze leaves a mark. What if I press harder? It doesn’t matter I can’t feel a thing. I can’t stop. Even though purple is usually my favorite, today, right now, it is red. Red is my favorite colour. And I want more. I love red. The colour that flows out of my body. I love it. Let me pull it out until my vision fades; until my there’s nothing more. Until I’m pale and drained. Until I’m dry and decaying. Red is so beautiful. Yet I am not. Take the beauty out of my body. Separate it from my ugly soul. Let the red stain my sheets and let it bring beauty to my surroundings. Drain it from my veins; drain it from my arteries.
17. 17. Seventeen. 10+7. Only 17 of them. Only 17 sources of beautiful red. Maybe more soon. Who knows? Who cares. 

You could never understand 

TW SELF HARM SUICIDE GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS

You could never, ever understand how it is to be at this point. To be consumed by all the reasons why you’re damaged. To have an intense surge of insight, where the swirling fog of uncertainty and fear disappears. Clear as the day, the only thing visible is the thought that things will never change.

You’ll never understand the simultaneous relief to have an answer and despair at the prospect of staying this way forever. Not just pain, it’s suffering.

I no longer feel as if I have a hole inside of me. I feel like there is an inescapable vacuum that sucks up any good that I produce or that others bring to me.

I don’t think you’ll ever understand – I hope you never understand. I hope you never understand the feeling of lying on your bed eyeing that ultra sharp blade you’ve scavenged after many nights of resisting temptation. Wanting to cut so deep you need stitches, to lose so much blood you pass out and maybe never wake up.

I’m so beaten and broken down, actually dying would just be a formality.

The bad thoughts 

are talking to me. They’re saying you’re a psycho. You’re obsessed and sad and pathetic. You’re trying to feel better – but do you deserve to feel better?

Rip the hair out of your head but you won’t get rid of me. I’ll always be here. I’ll always be here.

You can’t rely on yourself but you can always count on me to be here. This is where you belong and deserve to live and die.

Here is home. Listen to me. I won’t leave you. You can tell me your problems and woes. I won’t make you feel better, but I’ll always be there to listen.

I will tell you what you already believe. What you want is for people to lie to you. To tell you that what you’re feeling is understandable.

I will tell you the truth. I will remind you that you are worthless and you deserve to be knocked down because frankly, you’ve been happier for much longer than you deserve.

You always get what you want. It’s time you relearn what suffering is.

So take it, stew in it, become it. Become the pain and self hatred.

Become the bad thoughts.

Become me.

I am who you are. Let me guide you.

Let me in.

Let me drive you into the ground where you belong.