Two nights ago, I sort of did it again. Hurt myself. I don’t know why but it has become more of a habit. Rather, a compulsive desire to do it. And it feels like the need to breathe. I tend to resort to pricking myself with my favorite needle just almost every day, leaving me abrasions and other evidences of the pricks and cuts the following hours. Usually, I would wait for one scar to fade before I do it again so as not to make it obvious that I’ve been having too many scratch marks. But now, I just couldn’t wait anymore. It feels like it’s the only thing I can do. I know I may have been telling other people that hurting one’s self is as bad as hurting others. I’ve been telling those who suffer like I do that there are other things you can do when you feel guilty about something and when you feel really lonely. I tell them that in order to make them feel better because I care about them and I know how dangerous it is to hurt oneself. But why can’t I do it to myself? Why can’t I tell myself to stop doing these things? All along, I’ve been fake. Because I only cared for others. And I never cared for myself. I don’t know but I have decided on what to do in order to end this all. Pills. The exact solution. And I’ve even chose what drugs to overdose myself with. I know this is really bizarre and getting ridiculous now. But I don’t know, thinking about these things. Imagining myself trying to kill me brings me joy. Because maybe, through death, I will find peace. I will find the answers to all these longings. I will finally be happy. Can someone tell me? Am I already in complete trouble? Or is it just my mind that’s getting all dazzled and trying to seek attention this way?