When I hurt myself

I slap my face till it stings bright red. Sometimes I scratch my arms till they bleed and I drag my arms through patches of nettles to feel the pain, that sort of thing. Sometimes I just want to get a kitchen knife and plunge it in my chest and stab and stab and stab, I’m that rubbish. And I do actually slice into my arm. And I feel all the tension draining out of me with the blood—that’s the funny thing, it actually makes me feel better. I imagine myself being torn to shreds, blood everywhere, just feeling the anger against myself and feeling I deserve to be punished. But sometimes I feel good about my body. I like my breasts. I like the piercings.