The realization that self harm is the only thing I ever liked to do.
MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING!!
Maybe I've just disassociated my life away and I can't remember what enjoying things was like. But from my vague memories, even with a variety of hobbies, I always ended up crawling back to SH. Maybe just to prove that I can, that I can make a choice for once in my life that is entirely my own. I don't know. I never thought I'd miss it in those days, I saw it as something that hurt me, and I thought I wanted to heal, but now I have no access to SH tools and I miss it so much. I miss it like a ghost by the seaside waiting for a ship that sank years before, I miss it dramatically, like an old friend. I should hate SH but I love everything about it, and I hate that I can't say that without sounding like I'm romanticizing it. I don't think SH is good, but it makes me happy. I like watching apricity fall on my cut up skin, I like the way the bandaids line up, I like the metallic smell of a fresh blade, I like the dull ache of it all and the way everything has a vaguely melancholic tone, a blue tint. I wish I could SH all day and nobody could stop me. But SH is wrong and I can't change that nor do I want to. I hate myself, and I feel guilty.