...I did it again. No matter how many how jokes I make about being reformed and a good patient and taking my meds. Sometimes I just can't make ends meet; sometimes the thoughts and feelings in my head overwhelm me so much the only thing I can do is to hurt myself. To pick up any object which could possibly cause harm (trust me my brain can find fault in a pair of tweezers), and use it in such a manner which would turn a lot of stomachs I'm sure.
And the result is one or two or maybe more abrasions on my otherwise milky-skinned arms. Angry, red marks which sting when I look and stab when I have to tell Will, marks which I pick at and peel away the fibrin, trying to make me better. Marks which aren't alone, but have at least 100 companions.
So all I can do is to admit it was wrong, patch it up and try to avoid my gaze for a week or two. All I can do is to say 'sorry', to anyone who has the misfortune to see.