*TRIGGER WARNING*

Author's note: At the time of writing, I had self harm issues, specifically with cutting. As of the poem's latest submission, I am almost two months clean. I am sharing this poem because I want others who can relate to know that they are not alone as well as to document the well-hidden distress self harmers endure. This poem can be triggering. Continue at your cautious discretion.

 

When I watch you prick your finger multiple times throughout the school day I can't help but feel a twinge of selfishness.

You didn't choose to be diabetic.

You don't choose to prick your finger; it's a medical necessity.

I feel selfish because no one told me to cut myself.

Sure I heard voices, but what medic told me I should take a blade to my skin?

It's only a temporary solution- like your pump.

Like your Smarties and my anti-depressants.

While you use your needle to check your sugar I use my knife to check if I'm still alive.

I'm sorry, I always talk too much about myself.

I'm such an egotistical prick

But it frustrates me how your doctor says you do well keeping track of yourself while mine just thinks I get too hard on myself. 

Because we're not too different.

We're both used to our routines.

And we can't move on

Until we see blood.