shabeba the bratty kitten

i’m not going to lie to you. cutting feels great. amazing, even. the rush of adrenaline, the sight of blood pouring out of you, the peaceful, warm feeling that spreads throughout your body. it feels good. it feels calm. but those few minutes of relief and release aren’t worth what comes next. the guilt, the shame, the disgust, the panicky feeling of “oh fuck, how do i hide this?”, those feelings never go away. you start off slow and shallow, maybe two or three cuts. but before you know it, you’re going deeper and deeper, and you begin to lose track of how many cuts you’ve just made. but that won’t be you, right? you can control it, right? wrong. you can’t. the urges, the overwhelming fucking urges, are so much stronger than you could imagine. soon, it’s all you think about. where should i hide the blades? when can i cut next? how do i clean this up? it takes over your mind. it quickly turns into an addiction. then there’s the scars. the white, the pink, the deep purple scars. the more you cut, the harder it is to hide. people will see them. people will stare. people will whisper behind your back. hell, some people will straight up confront you about them. it’s embarrassing. it’s uncomfortable and awkward. but, that won’t be you, right? wrong again. you’re naive to think that this is something you can control, something you can just stop and forget about. you won’t ever forget. and even when you’ve stopped and haven’t done it for years, every time something bad happens, the thought of cutting will sneak up in the back of your mind. yeah, cutting feels good. but is it worth it? absolutely fucking not. don’t start. i promise you, you don’t want this.