I cut again, I never could fully stop despite 5 years. I don't know why I did it. I guess I was angry, I needed a escape from reality. It worked in a way. I don't care about anything right now. Yet I'm afraid, so afraid. And I'm so numb. I probably vowed to stopped hundreds of times. Yet here I am today, 5 years later, nearly a month clean and sober from drugs and alcohol. But I just couldn't give up self-harm. No, I could stop drinking. I could stop getting high but cutting? Fuck that. At least that's what I thought. "Fuck it." That sums up my attitude right now and the truth is if I had access to drugs or alcohol right now I wouldn't hesitate to drug myself into oblivion. But I can't do that anymore. So I'm left with fear, fear of what I'm doing to myself. Yet not fearful enough to stop it. I don't know what to say anymore. I'm running out of places to hide. I'm running out of space. I'm hurt, and it has nothing to do with the wounds on my arms.