band-aid shortage

i always manage to quickly run out of them, such as right now. i know i said i wouldn't anymore, but fuck it- old habits always die hard and everything is an on-going life process to be taken and dealt with moment to moment (i'll admit, this isn't the first time since i stopped. i just haven't said a word the times i've joyously needed the indulgement, duh go figure. sick? twisted? well i don't care what you think. afterall, i started in 2nd grade unaware of absolute and complete understanding, and it's hard to part with the only thing of which has ever really been there for you as a sense of security. plus, i really don't even physically feel it anymore when i do it, it's just a distant sting matched with a euphoric soothing. why is the mere sight of running crimson so cathartic and comforting to me? shit, we all know why, if you tap into proclaimed psychological psyche. i think i've discussed and deduced it so much already that i no longer need to justify my actions any longer. and frankly as of tonight, i don't care what anyone else thinks of who i am or what i do anymore. i'm so incapable of real and full repair that nothing matters anymore.

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