I started cutting in the spring of 2010. I burned a couple times in the fall of 2010/the winter of 2011. Quitting is hard and even though I have periods where I don't even want to cut, I have moments where I feel as though I have to or else I'll lose part of myself. That's why this post is about self-harm. Because I want to, but promised my girlfriend I wouldn't when she was with me.I was trying to cut myself.I wanted to cut for the cut itself,for the delicate servering of capillaries, the transgression of veins.I needed to cut like the way your lungs scream for air when you swim the entire length of the pool underwater in one breath.It was a craving so organic it seemed to have arisen from the skin itself.Imagining the sticky-slick scarlet trails of my own blood soothed me
When I stopped cutting it was only because I could afford to,because the need for it had apparently run its natural course,like the fever the body mounts to fight off infection,that subsides when the danger is past.