Conversations with myself.

“So, why? Does it help?” 
“Sometimes. It’s more that I don’t know what else there is, and It’s all I had for a while.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Not really. It isn’t much or often.” 
“But what about, you know. In your mind.” 
“It’s… yeah, that’s not so simple.”
“You have people there for you, how do you think it makes them feel?” 
At the time, I don’t care. There is nothing. There are no feelings but this blinding, deafeningly sharp and repetitive pain. And you only know one way to stop it and it works, fast.”
“But how do things get so bad?”
“I don’t really know. Lots happened, I had to be strong.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“I don’t think so, please don’t feel bad. It will get better again soon.”
“I can’t help it, we love you.” 
“I love you too. But I loved a lot of other bad bad people. I hated myself. I dealt with every part of it alone, and now this one small act of destructive behaviour is the last of my coping mechanisms. I promise i’ll get there, eventually. But for now this is how I manage, okay?”
“Okay. I’m here for you.”
“I know, thank you.”


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