this is everything i didn't say

fifty-nine

i keep saying i'm going to be two months clean and the broken glass in the picture frame is gone but it's all a lie, every word of it. maybe there aren't any new scars, but that doesn't mean a thing.

THIS IS STILL SELF HARM

i bite my lips and pull off the skin til they're shredded and tell myself it's nothing but a bad habit, tell myself it's okay when my lips burn and bleed because "it's just a boredom thing" or "it's a nervous habit, i've had it for years."

THIS IS STILL SELF HARM

i won't let the scab on my elbow heal that i got from falling on my rollerblades, the scrape i got when i was more concerned about my phone than myself, the one i cared so little about that i forgot to clean it until an hour after. i didn't say a word when it hurt to lift my arm because it was so badly bruised from connecting with the concrete. and now i do nothing but pick at it, even when it bleeds, even when i wake up to bloodstains on my sheets. i never let anything heal.

THIS IS STILL SELF HARM

i keep my bracelets too tight even when they're half cutting off my circulation, when my hand starts to hurt and they leave dents in my wrist. i won't even consider taking them off, not even when i sweat and the metal begins to irritate my skin.

THIS IS STILL SELF HARM

when i'm anxious, i squeeze my necklace so hard that it leaves indents on my fingertips. i didn't even realize that i was hurting myself until my friend grabbed my hand and told me to stop because i was leaving marks.

THIS IS STILL SELF HARM

lately i can't get more than halfway through eating something without getting nauseous, and even though i know i'm underweight and probably too skinny, i'm afraid if i force myself to eat, i'll throw up. i keep dumping my food down the drain and yesterday i had to slam down a cup of lemonade because my sugar was dropping due to the fact that i'd barely eaten.

THIS IS STILL SELF HARM

my mother tells me when things get bad i should pray, but sometimes i don't; i just let myself feel it. i want to feel it. i don't feel anything otherwise. nothing i feel is valid unless i let it hurt me. and so i do. i let my heart pound through anxiety attacks, cry through depression, and struggle through dinner without even trying to help myself. i pray for nothing other than for it to get worse instead of better. dear depression, please come back; dear anxiety, please don't leave; dear whatever this terrible nausea is, just let me have one meal and you can have the rest. please stay a while, i need friends.

THIS IS STILL SELF HARM AND WHEN I SAY I'M CLEAN I'M LYING