i cry . i cut . i bleed . and then i become able to face the day and carry on.

i’ve even started doing it in preparation for anxiety . THAT is something i’ve never done before

i used to model i loved it i used to creating self portraits of myself , even if they were dark

i am so afraid that i’ll miss this part of my life . and i already have missed it in photographs . which (artful ones, at least) are so crucial to my life . in truth , i’m an artist

and i feel as though i’ve stripped myself of my favorite medium: my body.

i’m too scared to show it to anyone. lovers, friends, or art observers .

but i don’t want to go to residential treatment . i can survive without a suicidal focus , if i cut every day . to every trigger .

but my body is … covered . it’s become my identity and i never intended for that . i just … wanted to survive it’s still just my way that i’m able to survive