I cut myself.

I cut myself everyday. But I can barely feel it anymore. But I want to know that mysterious sweet pain, that comes after the razor blade has penetrated my skin. I want my mind to turn blank. To only feel that itchy feeling run through the wounds on my body. I want to hear how my breathing slows down and feel how my heart becomes strangely calm.

If you asked me how all of this started, I wouldn't know the answer. It feels like it's always been like this. Cutting, starving myself, eating, purging, running for several hours a day. When did I start to detest my body? When did it start to become so ugly? I don't know. Do you?

The worst thing is that I don't want to stop, even though I know what I am doing may someday- when I take it to far, kill me. But it doesn't really matter. Because I am not afraid of dying nor being forgotten. Death is only a mere state of tranquility. When I die, I will have the privilege of always being alone. I won't feel anything, not even that sweet pain that keeps the hours, the days and weeks going right now. I won't feel anything, I won't be anything. Not old, not young, nor beautiful or ugly. Because I won't have any feelings left that can affect that immobilized body of mine.

Will I wither away and die like a lonely flower in the winter? Or will I slowly fall like a leaf in the autumn? Right now, I think I am falling. And for the moment that's all I need.