Hope.

"Maybe hope doesn't really save you.
Maybe all it does is kill you on the inside, slowly."
19/09/2016

Sadness.

"I think the worst kind of sadness is when you know what's making you sad but you don't do anything about it. Probably because you know that it won't fix anything, and that you'll just end up feeling horrible about yourself."
-19/09/2016

A Compulsive Cutter's Letter To The World.

"Hello.
It's been a while. I heard talking about feelings helps. Does it, really? Or is it just another way for people to find out your weaknesses? It doesn't matter, quite frankly. I'm supposed to talk about feelings, and that I shall.
First of all, it's a curse (and not a blessing) to feel everything so deeply. Anyone who tells you otherwise is an idiot. When your emotions are so heightened, you'll always feel like you're mind is tearing itself apart.
You won't be happy, you'll be ecstatic.
You won't be angry, you'll be enraged.
You won't be sad, you'll be miserable.
You won't think, you'll obsess.
When you love someone, you won't just love them, you will adore them with every living cell in your body, even if they treat you like shit.
And when they leave you, you won't just be heartbroken, you'll be devastated.
Tell me, what part of living in extremes sounds like a blessing? Yes, when you're happy, you'll practically be beaming with an almost infectious happiness that will affect the people around you, but that won't happen very often. You'll be sad mostly, and it'll be a sick kind of sadness. Like a pain that starts in your chest and radiates everywhere, from your fingertips to your toes, giving you goosebumps all over. If you're lucky, you'll find the courage to kill yourself, if not, well, then you'd end up like me. And that, is a fate I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not suicidal. But if there was a button that would make me stop existing, I would push it. Before last night, it had been months since I last cut myself. Some might even say I was making good progress, but then again I am quite indifferent to the opinion of people. The razor blade glinted in the dim light, greeting me like an old friend. A bit of rust had formed on it's side, like a silent complaint for being neglected for so long. What do I have to be so upset about? You may ask.
You don't know my story. Neither will you, because I don't care for your sympathies. But if you did, you would weep. For me. With me.
That is all for now. Thank you for your time.
Goodbye."