I counted all my cuts this morning at 1:09am. Ironic that I counted how many times I had destroyed myself at the time of my birth. It was only 24. Scars and all. 24ish. But then I fucked up. I usually only cut about 3 times. Enough to draw a little bit of blood. And enough to feel pain. Today was different. I went from 24 cuts to 44 cuts. 20 cuts, most of them with little spots of blood and three with it free flowing. All of them hurting like hell. In the exact middle I carved "LIFE"
I look down at all the cuts. Them all on one leg. I refuse to cut on the other one. I cut over old scars and around my leg. "Worthless.  Piece. Of. Shit."
"Useless. Asshole."
"Ugly. Lazy. Fucker."
"Horrible. Bitch."
These are all things I mutter. Each one becomes another cut.
"Disgusting."
"Weak."
"Each day normal people wake up and they face the world. They don't need to cut. They don't get depressed. You are a weakling."
"A weak piece of shit." I cut one after the other. Until I have taken up almost my entire cutting range. That's the way I hide it. I keep myself in a small space about 2 inches about where my shorts will end and then all the way up stopping before my belly. I grit my teeth and cut harder. I deserve this. And then I stop. I look down at the worthless thing that is me. And I wipe the blood off my blade and clean my cuts. I hide my knife. Then I breath dry my tears and watch my mask go up. Then I go smile and laugh with my siblings.