Today I cut myself with a knife because I want someone to care.
I told my husband I needed him to be with me today but he went to work anyway. So I cut myself. It’s the first time I’ve done it.
I just want him to care.
For the record, the cut is pathetic. It barely broke the skin. But I see pinpricks of blood so in my head it counts. Is it sick that I’m actually proud of it? I’m so afraid of pain I thought I’d never be able to bring myself to self harm. It’s an achievement really. A sick, twisted achievement. But it’s all I achieve in my hell of a life other than existing so I think it deserves a mention.
I despise myself so much.