Put it down

Put it down. Don’t fuck with me, girl, put that thing down!

No, you don’t, you don’t want to do that. You don’t want to do anything stupid. Look at me. Look at me and tell me what that will help. What good will that do? Will it make him love you again? Look at me. Look at me, now! Please, honey, put it down!

You think I don’t know? You think you’re the only one who does this? Who has ever done this? Oh, honey, no. I know. I know all about those feelings. “Just do it once to get it out of your system, just do it once and never again.” Again and again and again and again. It never ever ends. And it’s never quite painful enough, is it, honey? No matter how many times or how hard you try, there are no sudden bursts of random masochism that will ever help you feel better.

Oh really? Is that what you think? Is that what you think will happen? Do you think there’s a single inch of clarity at the end of that thing? Do you think that the answers to all your problems in life lie at the end of a blade meant to cut meat or on the edge of a saw or scissors? Are you so low you treat yourself with the same treatment and respect as something to be cut, molded and re-crafted into something beautiful? Do you look beautiful now?

Yes, I admit it. I am a hypocrite in this matter. But only from the outside is it possible to see what’s best for people like us. There is no therapist who can persuade you to stop; there is no pill to prevent this shit from happening, it just happens, honey, it just happens. Let me ask you the right questions that you won’t be able to answer. Let me help you. It’s never too late. Never.

Now swallow your pride and tell me; tell me everything.