I haven’t self harmed for so long that I’ve lost track. I guess I should be proud but I just feel so empty, not to mention the fact that my scars are still healing and visible. I thought that when all of this stopped would be the day of my recovery, maybe I could focus on improving my personality traits and my body rather than dwelling on them. But, as before, nothing on the inside (or out) has really changed at all.
The world around me, the people, the place, has become a personal razor that scratches at my skin, that draws blood until I just give up. I’m so fucking tired. Of everything. And there’s nothing wrong to even complain about; except myself.