I'm pissed off. The writing that follows is (in some parts) rather morbid, and should be avoided by those influenced by such material. It also includes some vivid, emotional imagery.

Well, the gates have been opened, and the oceans beyond them are rushing in on a tidal wave of self-doubt and painful memories.

I realised, just yesterday, something which is so often overlooked in society, yet no doubt happens rather frequently.

When i used to "hurt myself", my mother made out (i do not know if it was my perception or true deception) like every slash was across her heart, not my own body. She cried about how she's failed, and how ignorant i am. When i went to the doctor to treat a large one (in case of infection), she tearfully exclaimed "i hope it hurts", as i attempted to laugh it off an act like her words weren't slicing my heart and soul apart like no blade could ever do upon any given vain.

What a fuckin' hypocrite.

She smokes. My little brother has asked her countless times to give it up, and why she does it. She avoids the questions, eluding the small, clueless child away from her the truths of her pathetic addiction. Now i wonder; what's the difference between her addiction and (what was once my) my addiction?

Smoking calms and reduces stress levels.

Smoking is unnatractive.

Smoking damages your body.

The only differences are, firstly, i could seriously hurt myself if i didn't know what i was doing, while she's slowly killing herself and could well develop an unexpected fatal illness. Secondly, i only hurt the people who knew what i did. She slowly gradually breathes death upon all she meets.

Self harm: Deliberately hurting oneself without the intention of suicide.

So, who's habit's worse? Mine, with which i hurt myself in solitude, or hers, with which she slowly kills herself, her children (four, ages 17 (me), 16, 12, 8), and all those she whispers her poison to?