So this is what its come to. I'm back to where I was before, but now everything is so much diffrent. I wanted to stop cutting then, I wanted to be rid of it. And now I crave it, I need it, and of course I can't have it. I want to feel just like I felt then. Just after you do it, when the blood hasn't yet begun to clot on the cuts and everything is so beautiful and I'm perfect. I feel perfect, I am perfect, all over I'm the essense of life. No one is screaming, nothing is wrong or tragic, I'm not crying, in those few fleeting moments I'm truly numbed, but it feels like happiness and thats what matters. It wears off slowly, those moments being the only completley numb ones where nothing and no one can pull me from my God given trance, where the razor is warm and loving in my fingers and the only sure thing I know is that I can never stop, because why would you stop paradise? As it wears off I become more and more vulnerable, clinging to those shreds of blood that maybe might fix me again so I can escape. Starring at the cuts helps, laughing hysterically as my life spills out. I wonder what my kids will ask when they see the beautiful scars marring the once soft part of my body? When they get older will they understand that mommy had this perfect thing and people ripped it away from her? I shake my head and smile. It doesn't matter because I can escape....but now I fear the consequences, like I never did before. I want to show someone my scars and be proud of them, and not start crying inside and begging myself to stop, because of course I can't and even if I could I would never stop. It feels too nice, too warm and beautiful and freeing. I want to show everybody, and not feel like a selfish brat for daring to bring attention to myself. I want to truly know whats its like to look at yourself and love it, and look at your wrist and realize its bleeding too much and thats the end...yes, I want to know, and maybe, just maybe, after I finish writing this and I breath and realize I don't care anymore, I will.