Tear the World Apart

A feeling of destruction has been building in me; the need to destroy something, a craving of pain, of blood. When I was younger I used to see how slowly I could draw a knife along my arm. I always found serated knives the most functional because you could feel each seration biting into the skin as it was drawn across skin. I remember once I was sitting in the corner of my TV room while two friends (who were into each other) were playing on the computer. A feeling of anguish that I couldn't handle overwhelmed me. I began lightly drawing a knife across my left arm, slowly building the pressure as the blade caught the skin. For half an hour this went on until blood was running in a thin line along my forearm. Whether it was a cry for help or not I don't know, but the scar still resides on my arm as a memory of the feeling. Yes, I am a masochist.

I've managed to hold back that urge for the last few weeks resorting to depressants and trying to put a hole through my elevator. I've always wondered what it would be like to put my hand through something, like a window or wood or even the feeling of my fist against some unsuspecting person's face, but for some reason I have been able to restrain myself. I crave the external physical pain because I can see it heal, while the internal anguish never seems to. Hopefully, this craving will wane, but I worry what it means if it does.