There was a moment when I couldn't feel my fingers. With the familiar tickle in my chest, somehow I struggled to breathe normally, and overall I was shaking. It's so fucked. I haven't felt this broken in a long time, but I guess I just haven't been thinking about it. When I think about it, I've always been this way. There's something rather disturbing about feeling as though you reject your own skin- like I wish I wasn't with it. I have nightmares about my flesh ripping open and my insides spill out like water. A release I'll never know. I still have the tickle with me. It lingers, like any second darkness will take me and I'll wake up on the floor like I have time and time again. It hurts.

When is this shit going to stop?

There's no reason I can think of for it. No cause. No trigger. Nothing about me makes sense anymore. Every cut leaves another scar that never really goes away. Every cut changes me and as time passes I lose recognition with the face in the mirror. I don't know that face anymore; I stopped looking a long time ago.