I appreciate the sentiment and the support, really I do.
It’s been 8 months.
Since I used a box cutter on my thighs.
Since red poured out of the lines etched in them.
Since I had visible scars.
It’s been 8 months since it even crossed my mind.
And it’s been three hours now since I started staring at the box cutter.
I’m going to take a sleeping pill like I did all day yesterday and hope that I don’t want to cut when I wake up.
That’s the thing. I am not pretty.
I’m a negative, judgemental, ugly on the inside bitch. (Maybe if things had gone differently in my life I wouldn’t be so fucking broken and full of self loathing for being so stupid…)
People who know me would be much better off never having known me.
I’m toxic. I can’t even love myself, why am I worthy of anyone else’s love or time?
That’s why I want to disappear.
Sometimes I question stopping at the stop line for the red light.
Day dreaming of the massive 18 wheeled transfer truck moving in my direction hurling itself through the front half of my car sending shards of glass and blue shrapnel and sinew in all directions.
I’d like to disappear.