I am very scared of posting this.

You do the math you expect the trouble. The drums beat like they’re trying to tell me something. I relish the damage it might do to me. I relish the damage it will do to me. I’ve been wearing these bruises for a week now. I’ve never felt more at one with myself until recently. I won’t label it. I look in the mirror and I look at my face. I look at my body and at least I like it because it is mine. It's mine. I do not share it with many. He looks at me with an intense obsession and I only started to notice the flecks of green. His eyes are not completely brown. A lot of people breathe smoke but don’t feel the fire. I’ve always wanted to feel the fire. If I told you, you wouldn’t understand. He told me I know myself well.

I always wanted to be here and I always wanted to be in education. I always wanted to drown myself in my work and I have finally succeeded. It’s not all so amazing... for the past week I have felt like I was dying. Last night the pain in my chest was so bad it felt like someone was squeezing my internal organs with their fist. I curled up on the bathroom floor and hugged it like it was my friend and thought how this pain was worth it. The nights became days and I wasn’t sure whether I was awake or asleep anymore. I’ve been trying to rebuild, but next week I plan to wreck myself again. There’s something inside my bones that screams for it, and as much as I say I won’t do this I won’t do this I won’t do this... I will do this. He saves me in a way I can’t put into words. I am his freedom and he is mine. I am in my truest form a masochist. It’s not a dirty word but a pattern of behaviour. I am testing my body to its limits, I am finding escapism. Fuck me till I can’t breathe anymore. This is who I am and I understand myself now. I want to be free and I want to run wild with the wind. I want to reach that higher level. I want to see how far I can go. My nails are painted blood red. I am escaping the boundaries of this world and I am running with it till I don’t feel like I am human anymore. He is making this into an art form. He is making me into an art form. He thanked me for the freedom I gave him. I told him I couldn’t deal anymore. Am I stronger than I thought? My nails etch into his back and it feels like I transcended somewhere beyond. When I was quite young I visited Chartres Cathedral in France. We walked in and there were organs playing. I remember feeling complete awe and beauty. My mother tells me I am more musical than she as she cannot remember organs even playing but it’s something I remember like it was yesterday. I found all my old art work. I have always been this way but now I understand better. Now I can share it. Now I can explain it. Fuck me till I can’t breathe. Starve till I feel completely empty. Cut until it makes a pretty mark. Sick till I find that relief. These are not problems. I’ve always been completely comfortable with who I am.