WARNING: Contains frequent mentions of self-harm

When I was younger I used to romanticize hurting myself. I once told someone that life was a stormy ocean, the twists and turns of life were like huge tidal waves threatening to drown me. I continued telling them that cutting was like finding a buoy in the waves. That it was something to help me float above the troubles I faced. Pathetic right? Well I hurt myself again today. The cuts aren't as deep as I used to do, but there are more of them at once then there ever used to be. They barely even bleed. More like they are just raised red lines across my skin. Maybe there are more than there used to be because of how long it's been. Last time was supposed to be the last time, I had thrown away my razors and everything, but I trusted myself again. I bought a box-cutter trusting myself not to use it anyway other than its intended purpose. I trusted myself again, it was a mistake. I used to romanticize hurting myself. Not anymore. I used to romanticize hurting myself because it distracted me from the truth. I hurt myself because something in me feels the need to be punished. Maybe there are more because of how long it's been since I've punished myself. I don't know. All I know is that when I started it was really really fucking hard to know when to stop. The first one hurt, the second a little less, and by the third I barely felt it at all. The more lines that went across my skin the more right it felt. After I stopped I felt the hot flash of anger at myself. The scars from last time had literally just started to fade after all these months. The anger was short lived as the Void sucked it up to feed itself before numbing my brain to feel nothing again. Nothing. Tears rim my eyes as I write and I have no idea why, or maybe I do, but I don't know I just feel nothing. Eventually these lines may scar and fade just like the other ones have, only to be seen in the right lighting letting me know the mistakes I've made every time I catch a glimpse. Maybe this time will be the last time, I don't know. Maybe I do. All I know is that I am a liar. If someone sees these lines they will be explained away. When I see them in the mirror I will lie to myself and say that it's okay. I am a liar. I am a liar to everyone around me, and most especially to myself.