I’d like to cut my body open with a sharp knife. Not to hurt myself, not even subconsciously, but to relieve this awful tension that seems to have crept into my skin and crawled into my bones.
It does not let up, nor let go, ever. It keeps on crashing down on me, going on forever.
Do not worry about me, though. I would never succumb to the craving to carve myself open. Even though everything I can see in my mind is that very picture.
But no matter how deep the wounds turned out to be, there would be no relief.
And that nothing can be done is the real tragedy.