I want to cut so badly. I need it. I can almost feel it. I want the release it brings. I am so tense and full of fear and anger and want. I want and I hate that I want. And I want to cut but I can't. I promised I wouldn't ever again, but I miss it and I didn't want to give it up. I miss feeling like I was in control of my body. Feeling like I was creating art. I miss the patterns and the sheer comfort and familiarity of the steps I followed, the preparation, the act, the moment after, the careful clean up. I don't know how I'm gonna deal without this coping mechanism. I don't care if it was unhealthy. Sometimes I think it was one of the few things keeping me alive. One of the stop gap measures to keep me from going that step further and ending the cutting and despair forever. It always seemed like a trade off. It wasn't good for me, but the other options never worked as well if they worked at all, and it was better I was bleeding than dead or alive and shooting heroin or something. I know people who cope by taking themselves away via drug after drug. At least I was always clean and careful when I cut, and it didn't take me away, it brought me back. How odd. I just realised I loved cutting and really truly am going to miss it. Now that just can't be healthy. Sigh. I apologize to anyone who has taken the time to read this long rambling piece of work, but it helps me to write it out and know that I'm not completely alone in my head with it. There's no where else where I can talk about this.