My parents know. They won't let cut anymore. Some friends know first hand. They'd notice. Others were told that I USED to do it. They've never been able to understand it, which is exactly why I didn't tell them. That and it'd be like showing them everything inside of me.

The worst part of it now, is knowing that there isn't a single square inch of my body that belongs to me. There is absolutely nowhere I can cut that won't be seen. I'm not allowed.

So while all of you get to have that moment, that one, brief moment of control, I can't let go.

I get by on occasionally scratching the back of my hand while making coffee. Cup after cup of coffee, just to keep my mind on what I'm doing. So I don't slip up. Sometimes I break things. Anything to cut the tension. Sometimes I pace the floor. Sometimes I sit in the dark and pretend I don't exist. When it's completely black like that it's possible to forget you're there at all.

But I can't cut.

I would trade every single thing I own to be able to do what I need to with my own body. But I can't. Ever. It's not mine to hurt anymore.