Please understand that the below is a train of thought, unfiltered. I do reference my method of self harm, so if you are not looking to read that, or any of the other depressing existential shit my brain spits out, keep scrolling. Whether you read it or not, please take care of yourself, and remember, as crushing as the world seems sometimes, you aren't alone, and you aren't unwanted.

3 years huh? Seems like yesterday, but the scars are almost gone now. And yet, that little voice gets more insistent every passing day. Do you think it's scared what will happen if I never cut again? I do. I can hear the fear, the desperation. For what? Why does part of me desire to be in pain, to be in misery? What purpose does it serve me? And yet, it calls to me. The glint of metal and the rich color of blood flooding with oxygen. When did that color become so alluring to me? When did it become addicting? Why can't I let go? 3 years is a long time, but it feels like it's only been hours. I can still feel them sting as though fresh.