Yesterday I wanted to cut all day long. I was just obsessing about cutting, sometimes talking myself into and sometimes talking myself out of it. It's such a roller coaster ride. My PHP therapist asked me to bring in my razors, and I did. But yesterday I tore apart another razor. There's a strange sense of safety knowing that I have the razors. I have to bring in the new razors now. I don't want to. Like I said, there's a safe feeling knowing they're there.

I'm so reluctant about giving them up. Cutting has always been a kind of "friend" to me. It's always been there when I've needed it. I never use cutting as a suicide attempt. To me cutting is too sacred for that. I'm more inclined to take pills for those attempts. I know my thinking is really distorted, but it's the honest truth. People have always left me alone...in the darkness of my own pain. They turn their back on me, but never has cutting turned its back on me.

You're probably wondering, "did she cut?" No. Just tearing apart that razor calmed me down. I didn't need to cut. I feel like I'm inside a tornado of emotions when I want to cut, and when I was tearing apart that razor I became centered and focused, my whirlwind of emotions stood still and I was calm. That's how I feel when I cut, but I didn't even need to cut this time. I think that's a little progress.