i don't believe self-mutilation is limited to slicing one's wrist.

i believe it comes in other forms. when you purposely cause pain to yourself and do nothing otherwise to stop the pain, you are in a way mutilating yourself. and you wear your scars on your furrowed brows, your red and puffy eyes, the turned-down corners of your mouth. you don't laugh like you used to. and when you do, your eyes get shifty. you don't want them to know how much effort you're putting into this pretense. you wish you could wear your sadness freely but then, you might as well wear nothing at all. you have to hide those scars, the way the guy with those carvings on his wrists wears his long-sleeved shirts to cover the embarassing scars up. not so strong as you thought he was, aye? we're both just running away. and falling deeper into the pits of self-inflicted misery we dug. and we keep digging. keep picking at the scars to watch it bleed more.

everyone tells us that it's ok. and that things will get better. and that nothing's changed. but it feels like the total opposite. really, there's only so much that other people can do or say. there's only so deep you can go before you're lost for what seems like forever in the suffocating darkness. you have to come out at some time. whether you crawl out or leap out or get pulled out of it, just make sure you get out of it. unless you want to make misery your home and tears for your backyard pool.

i miss laughing so hard that it hurts. i miss coming home from school and sighing with satisfaction as i reminisce the great day i've had. i miss looking at people in the eye and having a decent conversation with them. i miss having care-free free blocks and care-free free days after school. i miss the friends who i have to struggle to keep but find myself letting go off instead. i miss the way a beautiful day makes everything else appear with a tinge of sweetness. i miss the person i used to be.

at the moment, i've become just another self-mutilating freak. and i pray i come through, fast.