22. Rebellious. Photo Taker. Contradiction.Writer Of Thoughts. Curious. Growing. Impatient.
I’m a cutter.
I don’t think I’ve ever actually admitted to cutting. At least not fully, I’ve always called it something else, or made up something to use instead of the word, “cut.” It actually scares me to think about it, once the “moment/urge” is gone. I can’t see me hurting myself. Which is a complexity in and of itself considering how much I’ve actually thought on cutting, triggered myself, and escaped to it. Cutting has always been a guilty pleasure for me. It was something I took relief in, found peace and utter chaos in. It created some type of balance for me day to day. Today though, I read something that triggered this… “ah-ha” moment, call it enlightenment if you want, but for whatever reason at this particular time, I admitted, to myself, that I’m a cutter. And as wrong, sick, or unhealthy as it may seem to everyone looking in, it was what I deemed necessary at the time. Through cutting I found a way to release all that I had hoped would dissipate with time, gone, with one stroke of my hand, for lack of better words.
I have come a very long way since my “cutting” days, not to say that I still don’t struggle today with the occasional slip up, but I am proud of how far I have made it.
[One day at a Time]
.light peeks over the horizon..splashing bright orange and pink through cracks in the blinds.. creating dancing shadows in the closet.. they entertain me as they scurry around in unison.. blinds flow back and forth being pushed by winds gentle breeze… as if to give a song for the shadows to dance to and the wind to sing.. and as the world slowly awakens.. my eyes finally close and drift so far away… content with seeing another dawn.
Simply put…
I haven’t cried this hard or much since I was 16. He hurt a part of me that I promised myself no one would ever gain access to again. Everything I had forced myself into believing seemed to turn to vapor right in front of my eyes. I think the hardest part of this is looking on how foolish I have been. To think for just one moment I was this happy with no hiccups or mistakes. “A fool’s gold this love is.” After a good few hours of crying, I finally feel l’m ready to move on to the anger stage. At this point I feel… nothing essentially. I’m numb. Again.
fuzzy memories become clear once again.. sleeping demons stretch their arms in wake of light ready to feed off what the past has brought about.. a dormant hunger arises within.. consuming over zealous optimisms of happiness found beyond the confines of ones own mind… only to be doused within moments of its arrival.. a dark cloud gloom’s over a sulking head inciting breath to still..
There’s nothing like a woman’s touch.
“Why do women do that?”
I found myself asking this question out loud, to a group of people, who instantaneously started looking around to open space. It is then, that I realized, “Hey dude, you’re a chick.” That’s when the outspoken one jumped into the conversation. Well.. oopppsss. I guess I wasn’t as close to the sober line as I thought. But it just irritated me as to how this person had answered a perfectly valid situation. She attacked it as only a women could. We argue about what we want, yet when we finally get it, if it’s not exactly when and how we wanted it, we get upset, ignore whatever, and in the end we take was given anyway.