Just A Little Deeper

My pain is written into every scar on my body.
Each scar or cut is a memory.
It's fucked up, but this is almost all I can ever see my life being.
I've been asked by people like my dad and counselors, "Why [do you self harm]?"
What answer do I have to that?
None, really.
Why do you breathe? That's what it feels like to me now. It's as easy and as habitual as breathing. I just do. It helps.
But it isn't normal.
So what switched in my brain that made it normal?
What made starving normal?
What makes me keep going back, endlessly searching for ways to destroy myself? Why?
Why don't I want to stop?
Why do I keep going? Ever cutting deeper.
What is wrong with me?
I don't really have an answer.
It's my lifeline. As crazy as it sounds, I don't think I'd be alive without it. Maybe I'm just being melodramatic. Who knows?
Nobody can really understand it except for me.
Why do I seek out pain as a way to exist?
Why does it help?
What makes me different from someone else? A lot of things, I guess.
Why does burning my flesh, destroying it, have to be my way to cope?
Why am I addicted to self destruction?
Why am I still not sick enough?
Why can't I ever cut deep enough?
Burn bad enough?
Why am I never 'enough'?

They say self confidence starts with you. But I won't ever get out of this. I won't ever have self confidence. Not at the rate I'm going.
I have this vision in my head, of who I want to be. But here's the funny thing. I will never be her. I don't feel like I'll ever be able to tolerate myself. I'll always be hateful toward myself, ever seeking to destroy myself.
I'm tired. I'm tired of thinking, of breathing, of hurting, of hating, of wishing, of hoping, of trying.
I wish I could just let go.