Getting worse, without actually feeling it.

I am supposed to study. Supposed to deal with my self-harm. Trust me, it’s not that easy. It is not as straight forward. I feel the darkness is just getting stronger. I am running in circles. Questioning whether I am developing an actual depression. Why I am I suspecting it? Well, I am crying. A lot. The weekend I spent binging TV. And that’s how I spent every weekend in the last 7 weeks. I am aware that a TV addiction is not a tell tale sign for a depression, but it can be one of the symptoms.

This morning I woke up with a tinnitus. If I think about it, I know that I am worse than I’ve been for a long time, but I feel strangely okay. Just a big bulk of nothingness. And I know that’s not good. Because nothing is exactly what will get me cutting eventually. The keyword is “eventually”. For now I am okay. The problem is: I may feel okay, but before I know why, before I know that something is wrong, I end up cutting. And I don’t feel bad. Neither before nor afterwards. It is like I just don’t care anymore. So I am just doing what I can: trying to study. Trying to fill the void of nothingness with knowledge. It does not work. But I gotta keep trying.

“Touching the flames tonight.”

There is a girl on the train. Watching the rain fall outside the window. Her lips tickle. Not in a good way. The grey sky vanishes as the train enters the tunnel and stops. The girl gets up. Enters the labyrinth of the main station. Every single step of hers in synch with the beating of the music.

She enters a store. Does not care about the people around her. She cannot hear them. Her entire being is filled with nothing. Music in her ears. She finds the hygiene division of the store. Finds the section with the razors. One deep breath and she is on her way to the checkout. With one single item. Classic razor blades.

She spares a thought on how that must seem. A young student at 8am buying razor blades. Is it not obvious what they are for? She feels the power she has. Because she can just buy those blades. No one can stop her. Then. She feels nothing again. The blades fall into the depths of her bag. She will inspect them later. She will be touching the flames tonight. Fire. And Flesh. And Blood. If she was feeling something it would probably be fear.

Yes. That girl… it is me. And I should probably have bought chocolate instead. My one and only enemy is me. How will I forgive her who wouldn’t forgive? How shall I live in peace with the one who always wants to hurt herself? She is me. And I hate her. And I love her. I need her. I invite her to come. And she hurts me. And I am her. I hurt myself. If this was a book, I’d write “A single tear is running down her cheek.” But there is no tear. Just me. There is no other, evil me. No demon. There is just me.