Oh, fiddlesticks

Someone was actually paid to cig dinosaurs fucking

Added bonus, is getting second hand embarrassment reading your narrated life.

*realizes this hours later and stoned*

Neither are real but they appear to be.

This is what my bpd and depression looks like. Why am I doing this? Because I live in shame with this. Have been living in this shame for exactly 20 years. I don't tell many until years later. I have learned that my solution to my inner conflict can and has been used against me. I have done therapy. I have learned how to stop doing it. I have never gone a full year without using matches or razors. I came close once. I was literally one day away from a full year when I was 17. Back then I used to record the number of wounds, an estimated time, and the date. Once I got to 100, I stopped. Some years were worse than others. There would be times that I'd do it every day. Each time I do this, I get closer and closer to the end. I don't seek pity because I'm too busy living in shame and hiding the marks. I'm told to tell when there's an urge. When I reach out, few respond so I don't. This time I dug the tip of the blade far enough, silver disappeared. I saw skin frayed once I stopped bleeding. This I'm not proud of. I'm not crying out for help or seeking pity. I just want to stop feeling guilty and ashamed.

I've planted these things everywhere apparently. Yet, I've had episodes and I couldn't find a damn one.

The problem with me, I want to see the after.