I  hoped to have the will to make a pact to do better this year, to be better this year. I was going to be stronger, I was going to work harder, I was going to think more and do more for myself. I was going to work on those little things called 'self esteem issues' and I was going to find more worth in myself. I was going to care less and I was going to cry less and I was going to trust less, invest more in myself than other people. I was going to be more out-going and daring and I was going to have the nerve to ask her out for coffee. A small part of me wanted all these things.
But I ruined it before the year even started, and now I'm worse off than ever.
Perhaps you, internet troller who probably stumbled upon this post by accident -perhaps you deserve an explanation.

I'd reached my 200 days. That would've been fine, if two days before hand I hadn't taken a sharp object to my skin and drawn blood for the first time.
It was reckless, but you must know I'd tried it before -with blunter objects that didn't quite produce the desired effect, but had gotten me through my breakdown. I'd honestly never ever dreamed I'd do this while I was away. I thought I was going to become more on this trip. I thought this trip was for me and I thought this was the chance I'd wanted to get away from everything and everyone.
Little did I know it was just the opening of the crevasse, the tip of the ice berg of what has been my worst turn yet. It was hell, and I was so so sad. And the 14th of December -my supposed 198 day celebration of my recovery from other control-originated, self-harm techniques and the 1st day I'd visibly hurt myself- was not the beginning of my self-inflicting pain.
For an entire week, every day and more than one instance I would dig my nail into the skin of my wrists and pray for blood. I wanted to strip the skin off of my bones because I hated everything about that place and I hated everything about myself. I don't know what had changed in me. Before going there, I would have dreamt of doing it but I never believed I ever would. I've seen it destroy too many people.
So, my 200 days was nothing to celebrate about. And the day after  I gave into that demon inside of me, the one that had always been there and the one that I'd fought to keep at bay for 201 whole days. I tried and I tried and I pushed that little piece of metal deeper into me, and things seemed to get better because I had control again.
Some days I imagined just giving in and pushing it all the way, and I wouldn't have to worry about the blood because it wouldn't matter. Because I would be dead and it would all be over.
I didn't and I haven't. But that doesn't mean I will, one day.
And so, now, that I am home and I can do things my way -I'm worse. I'm alone, but I'm so alone that I don't want to see anyone. I don't want them to see me and my failure. I'm so disgusting, and I deserve it so much.
I eat a meal a day, and I know it's too much. I know I have to be strong and cut it out all together but I give in and then I go deeper because I'm stupid. I'm running out of room on my wrist, and they really do look like train tracks.

I hope that you, precious reader, are ok. I hope you are fighting your demons.
Because you are worth that. You are worth happiness.

I want to count every freckle on her skin -I'd never get bored. I want to hear every story behind every scar on her body, and I want to write every one down so I never forget. I could write novels about the way her lips look when she smiles, and her eyes in the sunlight.
Forgive me for not being worthy of you. I know it, and I'm sorry.

--Andria.