Cutting it

I felt better. Not anxious. Not cutting. Not depressed. Not …. just not bad. New job started this week. Feeling reinvigorated and reinvented. I wasn’t afraid of the innocent white envelope. It’s the brown ones I fear.

What seemed like a great summer of recovery was cut/slashed/drowned/diminished in one fell swoop. The white envelope. I slid my finger gently beneath its lip, careful not to snag my skin. A possession order from the court to leave my home in the next 6 days. Three kids. Whole flat of stuff and no deposit or guarantor. What the fuck do I do?

I heat the kettle. Sharpen the paring knife. Cotton pads. Dettol. Cuts. Shallow..1…2…3…4…

I put away my first aid, my knife, but feel the need to cut deeper… I have no idea what the hell I am going to do. 3 kids. New job (ill probably lose now) … no money. Id hoped it would be a few months so I could get a deposit together. Not so.

The stinging feels good. The stinging … the tears not so much. It’s late. I cannot call anyone now. I don’t want to cut again but this shit…. just when I thought I had it back on track… this shit is just not cutting it

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