To be fucked:

Putting down my phone after sending that essentially fatal message to my friend: I have a scar that's hard to hide and I'm afraid they'll see it.

     I knew what they'd say; it's not healthy, they'd say.      

     But I'm fine, it's fine. I'd show you but I don't think you want to see that.

I've normalized it and they don't know that but they don't need to. I'm sitting on the foldaway couch back home and holding myself together, my hands shaking and my knees drawn up and the blankets sliding off me as I shake--maybe this is the come down--I'm hit in the chest with ice and shame. I'm fucked.

     I forgot my knife in my dorm before coming here, I send over text.

     It's  2 AM and I'm sobbing with an urge so bad I can't satiate it with long nails and scratching. I'm fucked.