[semiunbalanced]

Cutting is something different to me
than the stereotype says it is.
The stereotype says I do it for attention.
I do it so that people will notice
and people will ask questions.
I do it so that I can bleed out and die.
The stereotype tells me why I do things
and they’re not even close to the truth.

Cutting is sometimes the only way
to feel something.
Imagine for a second,
feeling numb.
You don’t feel warm nor cold.
Not sad nor happy.
Not hungry nor full.
Not even sleepy or awake.
Not even content.
You feel like you’re nothing.

Desperate to make sure that you’re alive,
you grab at the nearest sharp object.
You’re not scared because you’re too numb.
You let the blade rest on your skin,
waiting for yourself to feel something.
All you feel is something cold and sharp,
but there are no emotions running through you.
So you cut.

Cutting is something different to me
than the stereotype says it is.
It is release,
it is peace,
it is addicting.

So when I’m not feeling numb,
just sitting on my own,
I sometimes get this urge.
My wrists start to burn.
They start to crave it.
They itch and tingle.

I cut to stop feeling that.
It is interesting that I cut to feel
and to not feel.
I want to feel anything,
but not the crave for addiction.
I don’t want to crave anything.
I want to be satisfied.

The problem is,
I can never feel satisfied.
Cutting only releases so much,
it only makes you feel something for so long,
and it makes everybody else think
that you’re doing it for the reasons
that the stereotype has deemed
as the truth.