I had been worried about watching this movie… I knew the story behind it… I worried cause I feel unworthy. I hear other peoples stories and I don’t come close. In comparison my life would seem like a theme park ride I’m sure. Sunny days and rainbows. I hear other peoples stories and I’m over come with guilt, I have no reason for mine. but still that cloud comes sometimes. A midnight panic attack that grips my heart, knots my stomach, my breath is uncatchable, the sweat pours and a blackness and emptiness that is pure indescribable to fathom over comes me I scream and cry and then try and find some way to get sleep. Then other times, a sadness washes over me, and tears beat down the doors and I see no way out of this storm overwhelming me that I need to cause myself some kind of pain, I deserve it, or I need it to send me back to reality cause nothing else can quite do it like your sink tearing open and that dark red seeping out. but I just can’t understand why. other people have had actual tragities, or addiction, or depression… is that what I have? why am I sad sometimes, why does the world just seem to much? it’s not for attention… if people see my scars, I’m mostly embarrassed and cover with some stories of my cat scratched me, I’m embarrassed cause I know it’s stupid, I’m embarrassed cause I can’t really portray to someone why I do it, the reasons when you say them out loud are really stupid, but in the moment you can’t see that, they don’t feel stupid.
to write love on her arms reminded me that there are people like me. no matter our story, there are times when it gets hard, when you feel so alone it actually hurts your soul so much your body hurts. times when the world gets so unbelievable hard you can’t help but be sure this is actually hell. and it’s not that we are sad people or just need to cheer up or toughen up. I am a happy person, I am tough… but sometimes I’m not, and I can’t… sometimes I cut my arm.