Written in blood

I've listened to “The wrong side” by Abney Park 93 times continuously now. For 301 minutes, or 5 hours. Feeling a little single-tracked today. I just got a quirky idea! White hair is so hard to achieve, especially when trying to bleach dark brown hair that's been dyed black a thousand times. So I was just thing, maybe I could bleach the shaved off hair in my side cut when it's starting to grow out. Cause if I don't like it, I can just dye it again or shave it off. I'll keep that in mind.

I'm self harming more and more every day. More often, deeper and several cuts. It takes more harm to get me that rush of adrenaline and endorphins, and the effect doesn't last that long. Like an anti-anxiety drug that wears off after just a few minutes. Totally worthless, I know... it's just that I'm addicted to pain and blood, which pills won't get me. I just can't resist it, the urges attack me violently and I crave it like an addict crave their drug. I am an addict, and that was definitely proved when I realised I can switch between cutting and drinking, almost as easy as I can switch between being top or bottom sexually. My sadness is written in blood.

Sometimes when I burn myself with cigarettes I'm not satisfied with the result. So I put out another cigarette on the same spot, and then another and another. When I'm close to passing out I stop. Mission accomplished.

My future surgeon asked me if I had any cuts on my body during my consultation, and I truthfully said no, cause I hadn't cut or burnt myself in over a month. I suppose that won't be truth anymore when I see him again...

I don't know which is worse: people who tell me I'm seeking attention by cutting myself (I only show my scars/wounds to people I trust and or am comfortable around), or people who tell me I should cut deeper (I mean, really!?)