Red Opium.

Today marks 6 months since my last episode of cutting. God, that thrills me and scares me in one breath. That's a really long time. A really long time. January 17th - the last time I cut. Slashed, really, dozens of times, in incriments of 60. April, since I last had a plan for suicide. That's progress right? Really, I HAVE been doing better. Gotten better. I mean the simple fact that I'm NOT cutting, not thinking about it constantly has changed EVERYTHING. But I'm really scared. I don't have that protection anymore. That certianty. That everythiong would be okay if I just cut, over and over, by 60's. 60 on one side of my leg, 60 in the middle, 60 on the other side. Then, again, for good measure. Then the other leg. Always the same way. Then the arm, but that got hard cause I'd cut so much, had so many scars that the blade wouldn't tear my flesh so well anymore. I always knew exactly how many cuts I had, you know? Is that wierd or what? But it scared me how much yearning I hear in my voice right now. How much fear. How fast my heart is beating, my mind racing, how tightly I'm gripping the pen. It scares me how bad I still want it. But I know this is probably just because of what today stands for. 6 months is a really long time. A long time.
I'm scared. I'm scared.