I stuck a pin in the palm of my hand once. I stabbed a hole into my hand in the school bathroom and hoped it would bleed out all my grief and shame. It didn't work–it never does.
I have a line of pins on my red blood stained backpack and I had already pressed lines into my wrist before, it felt like it wasn't anything new. It felt familiar when I carefully took off one of the pins and hid in the bathroom. I wasn't thinking then but then again I never really do.
I hurt to feel control.
It hurts to feel.
My brain is foggy, It's been this way for eight years. I need to get help soon. I stabbed a needle into my hand during school and if I don't get help soon, much worse will happen. Don't you (I) see? I need to go away or bad things will happen. Is that a threat? I don't know but I have finally accepted that I need help.
Why can't I be proud of myself for that?
