polaroid-self-portrait

[polaroid-self-portrait]

Don’t worry about leaving me behind, I’ll just find a pretty spot to lie down and die, it’s easier that way for everyone, me and you.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

Fuuuuuuck I relapsed again I was doing….better, but then I fucking spiraled and fuck if cuts don’t shut my brain up for at least a bit.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

Realized I haven’t dreamed of….anything for a very long time. Dreams for the future, dreams in my sleep, none of it. Idk why I’m still moving forwards.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. I….so I didn’t think I was making it to 30, maybe I won’t make it a year. It’s just been confirmed that this country hates me and everyone like me and unfortunately I can’t leave. I just got in hrt and it might be ripped away. I finally came out at work and I might have to hide again. And I don’t think I can survive that. I don’t think I can survive the next 4-5 years. I wanna rage against the dying of the light but I’m so fucking tired.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

Some days my choices feel like cutting or having suicidal thoughts, one or the other, can’t say neither, sometimes it’s both

[polaroid-self-portrait]

Me, glancing at my scars from the corner of my eyes: “I didn’t know I had any striped shirts”

Cuz I don’t. Scars are fun.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

“Bed rotting,” pretty damn accurate when you already feel like you’re dead.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

Every day I fistfight the urge to make a shitty cutting joke or suicide joke. Humor is a coping mechanism, unfortunately if I make those jokes around the wrong people they get “worried” apparently.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

I can’t yell anymore. I don’t think I remember how. I think I gave up so long ago I’ve forgotten how to. I’ll just go quietly to the grave I guess.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

Huh, having so many scars that it hides your fresh cuts is weird.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

So, one of the things I’m particularly bad about is taking care of my cuts right? To be fair, most are cat scratches or styros at worst so like, not the biggest deal? But yeah, I just recently started rinsing them off and disinfecting them and even without bandaging them, wow does it affect the scarring….which I can’t tell if it’s a good thing or not

[polaroid-self-portrait]

I haven’t received a text from anyone not work related in….a month? Two? When I say no one would notice if I died, I meant it.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

I’m least suicidal when I cut. Somehow. Might as well keep going then.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

I look most like myself with red bloody cuts.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

I can’t imagine myself living long enough to die in any way that isn’t self inflicted at this point. Even on my good days, I still assume I’ll be the one to end it.

[polaroid-self-portrait]

My hopes and dreams? That my friends will move on quickly when I die

[polaroid-self-portrait]

Oops, set the relapse counter to zero again. Also, cutting through layers of scars is….weirdly numb feeling, like, way less pain than you expect or remember.