Entries of a Wrist Cutter

These are the entries of a wrist cutter. A self harmer suffering from BPD, borderline personality disorder. The entries include prose and poetry, and are semi-autobiographical.


4. Razor


Now I want to die. I feel so pointless. There is nothing in my life that is keeping me from killing myself. I sit for hours and hours doing nothing, falling victim to thoughts, dreams, of suicide and self harm. I can’t do it though; I can’t pull the razor across my skin, I can’t kill myself in any way. It’s rather depressing. Sometimes I feel as though I should just stay asleep in order to keep myself from harming myself; in order to keep myself alive.

Imagine seeing yourself die multiple times a day, having a painful desire to die, yet not wanting this desire to die; not actually thinking about killing yourself. It’s just there… always there. It never goes away, this desire. This longing; longing for death; longing for pain, blood, release.

Nothing, nothing helps… writing doesn’t help. Talking about it doesn’t help. Cutting doesn’t take away the pain, so it’s just left with you, choking you; choking me. I need to kill myself, but I just can’t leave this life. It’s so painful, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m on medication, Abilify, Effexor and Trileptal; anti psychotics, anti depressants and mood stabilisers. Obviously they’re not really doing their job. Be patient, every one tells me. But how can I be patient when all I feel is pain, all I want to do is to die. I just feel so pointless.

I was sad today. I don’t understand how anyone could be happy in this life. Everything seems rather pointless to me. Have you ever felt alone, even though you’re not? It’s a horrible feeling that. Most people don’t understand this feeling, and they don’t understand why I feel this way when I’m surrounded by people who love me. But sometimes… sometimes I feel as though I’m isolated, drowning in a sea of nothing, surrounded by nothing and no one. So I turn to suicide.


I walked across the room,

Grabbed a razor.

Slit twice on each arm.

Deep enough for the skin to open up

And the blood to keep from clotting fast.

 I went over to the bathroom,

Blood dripping more and more with every step I took.

My vision blurred. Turning the tap on was painful,

But I managed to fill the sink with water,

Where I laid my wrists and waited for death to take me away…


Maybe one day this might happen for real. It’s a good way to die, though I prefer to jump off of a building or hang myself. It’s painful seeing your own suicide. How do I live this way? Every day is a new challenge, a new adventure filled with new obstacles. But really it’s always the same obstacle. It just seems like a new one every day, it always feels so different and new to me. I can’t get used to it.

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