Pain

I didn’t cut myself. Too gory for my taste after all, I suppose. But I did release my anger upon the wall. I must say it was a relief, in a way, to be able to think about the pain in my hands instead. And to cry for the physical pain that I chose to inflict upon myself. Pain that I know will go away eventually. Pain that I know the beginning and end of. Sometimes, when I feel like spiralling out of control, it helps to be able to grab hold of something, anything, that makes me realize that I’m still in control of my own life. Even though it feels a bit stupid the next day, at that moment in time, it’s all I have. But I never cease to wonder, where am I headed to? What is the point in going on? Without a purpose, a bigger purpose, or even some concrete faith, it all seems pointless.