Like I said, I always thought I would be dead by now. Not necessarily suicide, just from reckless behaviour. My habits of getting black out drunk on a regular basis to numb myself from my everyday life seem sure to bring me down. Abducted, raped, hit by a car, over served, over dosed, you name it and it is a possibility. I’ve had several boyfriends bring this to my attention, and you would think that would make me more self aware. But that’s the thing; I’m not un-aware – I don’t care about my own well-being. There is a difference. I still don’t have any real concerns about anything bad happening. I want to escape this world, and if I’m in a place where I’m not fully present and something bad happens, that’s how it goes. I imagine I would be so scarred if they don’t take care of me, I would take care of it.
When I was growing up, I loved piercings. I wanted more. Always. I had my ears pierced when I was 4 and got a second hole (only on the left bc that was cool) when I was 8. Can’t remember all the ages of the rest but at 14 I got my belly button pierced, and I had in total at least 9 piercings in my ears. When I finally told my mom I started cutting, she said she wasn’t surprised. She said that when she asked me about why I wanted piercings in high school I said I wanted to feel the pain. I don’t remember this but I believe her and suppose it makes sense I would move on to cutting.