*possible trigger*
I ended up cutting. Just a few cuts on my stomach again. I wanted to cut deep, but it hurts too much on my stomach for some reason. I can't wait until I can go back to cutting my arms and legs. I could always numb my skin a little first, but that takes planning, and my cutting lately has been impulsive. Besides, if I go deep, I might need stitches, and then I'd have to let someone know.
I wiped up the blood with some tissue, then covered the cuts with some of the first aid supplies I had lying around. I stared at the tissue for ages, at the bright red blood, and it felt good to see my blood outside of my body again. Blood means I am here, I am alive, I don't consist of nothingness. There's something freeing about blood flowing out of my body, like I'm bleeding out all of the feelings and thoughts trapped inside me that I can't give voice to.
I've been thinking about suicide. I know exactly how I'd do it, and I am almost certain that this would kill me. It's not something that might or might not work, it's something I've researched at length.
When I attempted suicide before, I convinced myself that nobody truly cared. Now I know that's not true. I am loved, I am cared for, I make a difference in the lives of others (small as it may be). I always thought that coming to accept that would rule out suicide in my mind. I was wrong though. All it does is add a layer of guilt when I'm suicidal, but that's not enough to change the way I'm thinking.
I wish I could cut again. Do more damage, lose more blood. I have to resist though. The more I do, the more I have to keep hidden from the nurses at the hospital on Monday.
I have anti histamine pills that should make me drowsy. No guarantees though, sometimes they do and sometimes they don't. I think I'll take a couple tonight. I have other pills that would knock me out, but not many, and I'm saving them for when I really need them.