I have never known a cutter, one of those who cut themselves.
I never really understood them, their motivation for their actions.
I have never tried to place myself in their shoes
I never thought I could.
I.....

Can.

Albiet, I would not do what they do, but, the action, the pain, the blood. A simple method to feel, and know that you are still there and the check reality tried to bounce is signed by blood. But, they are not crying for help as they often hide their markings, and cut in places not seen by most.
But, it is the pain that is hard to obtain. The more cuts, the more desensitised they often get, and then the more cuts are required, deeper, harder. Sharp implements are not the friends of these folk, as sharp cuts do not hurt unless they are pushed and prodded, so older, duller instruments are required, to cause those pores and nerve endings to scream their undying voices, to let them know, you can still feel.

Oh, it is difficult. What is it to see a name, but then be so wretched that you can not do anything about that?

Goodnight all, until we meet again, for my mind tonight will refuse to take any more.