Confession Point

When you must confess!

i dont even know what i see in you. you act like a total fucking jerk to me and then the next minute you are flirting with me, acting like you like me. then you go off and flirt with some ugly whore that i absolutly HATE, and you fucking know that. also, that whore that i was talking about, she has a boyfriend, and yet you fucking go make out with her and hold her hand and shit. and then when you’re with me, you talk about how you hate that whore. what the fuck is your deal?!!?!???

i just dont understand it. you told me that you like me, then you dont talk to me. you have caused me 22+ cuts all over my body. you make me feel like a worthless piece of shit sometimes. and then i cut myself. is the only way i can get my anger out, becasue if i asked you about it then you would lie to me, even though i know the truth. danm, why do i even bother?


Do you see them? Do you see how they hurt? The vestiges of pain and regret? As clear as day they stripe my arm. The scars leave behind a memory…a torturous memory…

I was addicted to it. It wasn’t the pain, it wasn’t sting, it was satisfaction of retribution…

I would cut deep into my flesh and let the blood drip and drip on the ground…I’d paint the ground in pools of blood…my blood…

I’d keep a blade close…it was my friend…I was my enemy…

No one knows…but they all see, clearly can they peer…they don’t know my story…but they see the scars…of pain,of suffering,of life…

They murmur and judge amongst themselves…I wonder if they ever felt something so…so…deep…that tears wouldn’t suffice…do they know the meaning of pain?

But who really knows my pain? Is there someone? Anyone? Come to me, so that I might be healed.

So I can be……free.


I get phantom-pains in my arm from where I used to cut myself over a year and a half ago. I’m just numb there. Except occasionally, when I – or someone else- touches my arm, I remember the pain again. Or at least my body remembers the pain again. I will never cut again, but it hurts more to have the constant reminder that I was once unhappy, so visual on my skin. I hate what I did to myself.
I love my boyfriend even more for being understanding of it. He knows, athough we have never really talked about it. He’s said a thousand times that he loves me for who I am, and not for what I used to do to myself. I want to tell him how much I owe my life to him. But when he reaches over and touches my arm – not even realizing- accidentally – it makes me uncomfortable and I hate myself for it. He once touched my arm during sex, and I had to pull away.

What I tried to heal on the inside, by damaging myself on the outside, just became deeper and more painful. I have ended up damaging myself on the inside and out.