Cutting.

For the first time in over six months, I have intentionally injured myself to the point of bleeding.

As an after effect I feel very, very guilty. Like I should have been able to withstand it. I couldn't think straight... couldn't function. Had to go out but I couldn't put up with the thought of being somewhere cold. I tried to talk myself out of it. Tried texting people but either everyone was busy or I couldn't think of who there would be to text. I reasoned that if I just... did this. Did something that had been on my mind for half a year, I would have the energy to function. Go out and run the errands I needed to.

But there wasn't any energy. Instead, there was a mess of blood that got all over my jeans when I went out to ask my neighbor for bandaids. She didn't notice. It just looks like a small unnoticeable stain on denim.

After I patched myself up, I felt tired. I want to sleep now. Can't imagine going out and doing rehearsals. I didn't run the errands I was supposed to run for the rehearsal. I'm unprepared. Not just in that, but in just about everything. I don't have my homework done in a few classes. I missed Acting for the third time in a row today, but I had a doctor's note so I will be excused. I'm failing.

I have no reason to be this way. I refuse to submit to a chemical imbalance but god damn, it just gets hard sometimes. I ruined it. My perfect streak, my perfect six month streak of not cutting. I ruined it. My promises, broken. It's like... no matter how far you've come, you're never really as far as you thought. I'm low. Low low low. I want it to stop. I want to be able to make it stop.