I'm Ready to Share

I sit at home alone and stare at myself in the mirror. I see nothing but imperfections and disgust. I know I am not worthy of the things I have or the things that have been given to me. I must make everyone see me for who and what I am. Worthless. I see a spot, I must destroy it. I must attack it, ruin my outer self until I see blood. I need some confirmation of the pain I feel inside, something to show me just how awful I really am. I feel as though it's the only way to get through to myself. No one can take it away from me, I am in control. I am the only one who can stop when the pain gets too bad, but it's never too bad; it's never enough. I always want to go a little further, make it burn a little more. One day someone will see the wretched things I have done and they will assume the worst, I am a bad person, I can't be bothered with. This is what I call the truth. I see the scars of the past, of the cleansing I have done to myself, and they make me feel guilty. So guilty, I must continue on, find a new spot, and start all over again. It's like a drug to me, a rush to me, like my dirty little secret.


It's 110+ degrees here for months, I cannot wear shorts now, maybe not ever. The damage I have done is irreversable, but I cannot stop it. I have the devil on my shoulder egging me on every step of the way. He whispers in my ear and each time it gets a little deeper, a little wider, and a little easier than the last. Will I ever be able to redeem myself in my own eyes? Am I worthy of stopping? Why stop, when it's easy to do and even easier to hide