At some point I had pretty much just moved into the darkness full time. I wasn’t happy about anything ever and I was looking for attention in all the wrong places.
I would pick fights just to have a reason to feel as angry as I did. I didn’t want to do anything except set fire to the world around me and watch it slowly burn. Those thoughts and feelings made me just a bit uneasy with myself and the cutting got out of control quickly.
I was running out of room regularly at this point so I had gone from using one leg to using two; even then I was still cutting more than I should have been and space was filling faster than it was healing. I knew in a way that I was in trouble, but it didn’t seem to matter.
I had found so much comfort in this darkness I didn’t seem to have any desire to acknowledge that sinking feeling I had. I had recently rediscovered the overwhelming calm I received from causing myself pain instead of causing others pain. The idea itself was odd to me. For awhile now I had been so focused on the outward expression of my rage that I had forgotten that inward explosion could be so calming.
I had turned all the rage to me and had no intention of turning it outward anytime soon and least not that I could see at the time. I seemed to have less outside issues if I was taking things out on myself. I liked having less outside issues, it was pretty much all I liked.
I had built this mental prison out of darkness and found comfort in its walls for what felt like an eternity.
“I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow.” -Edgar Allan Poe