I want to keep cutting myself. I want to saw and bleed out all the pain from my body, until I'm depleted of all the ugly emotions and stirrings inside. Starting again after so long is intoxicating, better than any drug or drink I've taken, and more effective. I've cut superficially since, but not like this, enough to fully soak the band-aids I haphazardly tape on. The relief is immediate, and sometimes followed by an giddy high.
The aftermath is a different story. Even if some secret satisfaction lingers, I have to deal with the shame of hiding my wounds and later scars, making up lame excuses for their existence if I slip in coverage, and dreading the next heated episode of wanting to continue the act. Because I don't if I really think about it. The part of me that conquered this before feels disappointed, pathological, and defeated. If I can't deal with this now, how will I ever? Life will always be full of small and large crises, and I can't keep turning to this ritual which solves nothing.
Most of all I want to learn not just better coping skills, but communication as well. A lot of my desire to cut stems from an inability to convey what I am feeling in a productive and healthy way. So what other people see as a psychotic, angry outburst, I know is really just a plea for an ear to truly listen.