The curse of having BPD, emotions can turn on a dime. Ever since I arrived in New York I had been calm and serene. I went a week without even thinking about any sort of self harm. Last night I attempted to attend an NA meeting for the first time since I got here. When I arrived at the location I had listed there wasn’t a soul to be found. Neither my friend that drove me or I possess a phone that has internet capabilities so we had no way of confirming the address. Instantly my mood turned dark and when we got back to the house I locked myself in my room. I dug into the hidden compartment in the lining of my suitcase and pulled out Stanley, my favorite box cutter. Six new cuts on the inside of my thighs.
I chose the thighs, because I am not sure how my friend or her son would react to seeing fresh cuts on my arms. My friend has a long history of self harm which she seems to have under control. I am not sure how observant they are either, so I don’t know if they would den notice. I hate cutting my legs, it doesn’t give me the release I need and it ends up stinging like a motherfucker when I use Veet to remove the leg hair.