Scratches.

The shallow scratches are still there.

Another proof of what I dreamt and what happened. 

I assume that I won't be discovered for a while. 

I mean, shallow scratches near my left breast bud? Who will possibly see it?

Not the doctors, they don't expose your skin to this degree. 

And no my mother, I don't allow her to see my privates. 

So it was or breast or vagina, and since I'm preparing to pluck one's hair away, having a cut there won't be very smart, that would just end up being an infection in awkward place, and I definitely don't want doctors to stare at my south regions!

I know, I've lost my privacy when I started harming myself, blah blah blah, but come on, nobody wants doctors try to heal a cut in their vulva!

I don't cut my vulva. 

But he'll, my upper thighs stomach and other "secret" places will be scarred. 

I guess that now is my carving time. 

Practising beautiful pieces on my skin.

I guess that I just didn't expect my relapse to occur so soon.
I mean, about six weeks since my hospitalisation and there I am, losing every single grip I had and completely dedicating myself to the phrase "fuck it."
Sometimes, when there are so many broken pieces, it's better to ruin everything and start again rather then try to fix the fragile building.
I guess I've reached the time where it's nice to start fresh.
I think I'm going to stick with it, it's actually like my sketchbooks, sometimes we just need to refresh and open a new page.
It's about time to break everything.

I think that my self harm is a mere statement currently.
Great, my only working expression method has to be printed on my skin, and to hurt.

I guess that my shower is going to include some mess.
A crimson mess.
A sneaky and evil giggle would suit my words.
Oh! And thunders.

I remember trying to cut myself with the scissors and that I failed miserably, now, I manage to do so.
Let's see how deep can I go!
I need to pee because I'm somehow a still functioning humanoid being.

Okay, I'm simming for quite a while.
My dude and dudette are doing well... Kind of.
My female is nailing her communications degree, and she's quite awesome.
My male, he failed the finales, but he improved his street art skill, I'm now working on his guitar, painting and cooking skill, I surely want some badass guitarist-visual-artist-chef one to marry a ghost and give her some delicious Ambrosia.


Well, goodnight, I didn't harm myself physically today with sharp object [unless my nails are considered sharp] so all I did today was get three large tin cans and one huge button shirt.

Actually I got more to say. 

I absoultely hate myself and I want to stop eating, I want to lose every piece of my body until I vanish. 

I want to disappear and just leave my boney figure striped with self inflicted scars, gauze pads and fresh wounds. 

Have a chalice to dig into my bones. 

Sure, I'd be in some pretty bad shit, but thinness. 

It'll be my friend, my saviour, my comforter, my lover, my killer, my tormenter, my life. 

I'm going on some light core destruction and risky behaviour.