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.

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