Tonight I ran. Mist filled the air, covering my glasses. Music filled my headphones. It was dark and solitary. I could feel the mist on my skin and the movement of my body. I was huffing and out of breath but it was completely peaceful. I could enter a space in my head without malice for myself.
Last night I cut myself. My hand accidentally smashed into a glass light fixture. Blood spilled and dripped onto the floor. The pain was sharp, quick, and the blood was warm. I had a smile on my face, it felt good. I felt nothing but relief as blood oozed out of my hand. Am not proud of this. I stare now at the wound and wonder if I could peel all of the skin off my hand like a glove. Such feelings are better suited for one of my horror stories, but this is my life. Should I feel ashamed for a desire to hurt myself?