Razor @ MindSay 
This pisses me off that the pro-ana/pro-mia movement is gaining ground in society. Why don't we have a pro-cutting movement? Why isn't cutting as socially acceptable as being a fucking skeleton?
Self-Harm should be declared legal by law and be socially acceptable, just as controlled substances should, and funding go towards harm reduction measures to further study and assess these issues.
my last cut was sometime around my birthday of last year...almost 21 and barely a thing to live for.
i'm sure you can imagine what it's like being uncomfortable in one's own skin. it's basically crawling with you inside, wasting away, unsure what to do next. what's the live for? why not bleed?
i discovered cutting quite by accident and that i seem to acquired a certain thirst for blood...my own. i was very prone to anxiety and nervousness in middle school and through my more formative years. i remember, my first boyfriend dumped me because he said i didn't act like a girl should (i was 13). well, i couldn't tell him he was right, could i? at such a young age, i already knew that something was wrong. i knew i wasn't gay...i just hadn't met the right girl yet...but i was a girl myself...at least physically. didn't that make me a lesbian? i decided that i was at least bisexual and went with that. (later i found this to be true...but i'm getting ahead of myself).
i was writing in my room one day with a fountain pen that my mother had bought me for my birthday and my hand slipped when i was dipping it in the well. i speared my ring finger on my left hand (i'm right handed, quite obviously). as the blood formed on the puncture and then began to ooze out, i realized that i had been salivating. how silly it seemed at the time...but it grew to a hunger.
i didn't go sucking blood or attacking victims...it just fascinated me, that was all...a healthy morbid curiosity.
it grew to hatred. i used to slash at my forearms and my inner thighs because i hated them...i hated myself. i felt that if i could somehow destroy the wrong parts...i would be given new ones that were correct to replace them. i cut myself all over, my toes, my feet...even my nether regions...all because i wanted to start over fresh and be right for once.
[here is where i pause to find an outlet and to light another crush ( how i love camel).
having found a power source to regenerate my laptop and stolen wi-fi connection, i can continue.]
here is where things get a bit scary...i warned you.
about the age of 15, i met the man i thought i would marry. he was my high school sweetheart. he and i were together for 3 1/2 years before i told him i was a lesbian (which i knew at the time was even a lie). i was dating him during my sophomore year of high school. at the time, he knew that i was openly bisexual and gave me permission to date/sleep with girls. so i took advantage of it, i had a girlfriend. she was 14, i was her spanish tutor. she broke up with me and someone at school told him that they had seen us having sexual contact at school (which was not true at all). he basically threatened to break it off with me right then and there...and we were having a phone conversation.
at this time in my life, i was prone to anger blackouts. i never got violent, i simply blacked out and then calmed down and came to. i was on the phone with him while i was writing my ex-girlfriend a letter (we ended up being off and on for another year and a half). i was so angry with her, i simply blacked out once i got off the phone with my boyfriend. the letter i had begun was torn up and thrown away and i was sitting in my desk chair fuming...and i saw them.
the most beautiful pair of scissors...shining in the light of my lamp. i had to touch them. i reached out and grabbed them...and that is honestly all that i remember.
the next morning, i awoke in my bed with a towel taped around my forearm and a letter smudged with brown and sitting by my bookbag. i read it, it had been written with what appeared to be a fountain pen dipped in my own blood. the scars have healed to nothing but a faint white line on my right forearm now, but then, they were hideous. i never gave her that letter.
and so, my romance with self-mutilation began.
now, i have a much healthier idea of how to deal with anger and anxiety. now, if i'm feeling particularly savage toward my body...i pierce or tattoo it...i think it's a far cry from the damage i was causing before.
when i had finally allowed myself to realize that i was neither a girl nor attracted to only one physical sex...i set down the blade. i have not injured myself since september 4th of last year. happy almost one year, kage.
kage jonas
Dixie currently feels:
Dead
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Blog Poem #2
"Scabs"
Whenever I was hyper active,
Enjoying the way I'm supposed to live,
I'd often remark on pointless things,
And smile on the joy that my randomness brings.
I once often remarked, my brain was gooey,
The sky was bluey, glue sticks were gluey,
My brain was so screwy, my Converse were shoey.
The best thing I ever said though:
"My scabs are chewy."
And that's not a lie.
I'd picked one from my knee and gave it a try.
It was crunchy at first, then soft inside,
The surface was squishy, all the blood had dried.
Scabs are only a barrier, a mask, if you will,
They cover the wounds and they will be clean, until...
Until I rip them off again,
I want to see what's under them.
The wound hasn't fully healed.
It's bleeding now, just like when I:
Drove the cold blades into myself,
Sliced off my flesh and cut out some trenches,
I start the war, I fight the war,
I make my own barracks, eat my own stew.
I raise my own weapon, but not to my enemy.
I raise it to myself, and bring it down fast.
Ah... Relief at last.
I've made this once happy poem into something I shouldn't.
Keeping myself happy, content, I knew that I couldn't.
My scabs are all gone now.
I've scraped them away, pow.
All that's there now are the remains of the mark,
The small red indents where my silver blades park.
Where they dance upon me,
Take their fill of my skin, see?
There's one there, one here, one just near my elbow,
One down in the middle, and this one here... Oh...
...Maybe I shouldn't show that one to you.
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