I cut for the first time yesterday night. I didn’t cut deep enough to break the skin, but the scars are still visible. It’s so scary how…well…relieving it felt. I felt like I was finally, justifyingly-punishing myself for all the wrong I had done and pain I had caused. It felt right to do that because all my life I’ve been told by my brother what a waste of space and horrible person I am. He calls me a fucktard and a parasite and much more. I know he’s joking, but he’s done it so increasingly over the years that now it’s strange when he doesn’t insult me, or when he calls me by my real name. It’s even stranger when he says “I love you” when no one’s around (he makes sure to say it when non-family people are around) or when he’s nice to me. He’s only nice to me when my life’s a mess. So, it’s strange. I think that’s why I believe that I deserve to be punished. I was born early, and caused my parents so much money and stress, and I hurt my brother all throughout early schooling because I was weird and awkward and that hurt him. I feel ashamed about all the pain I’ve caused, and that caused my depression. My dad says that it hurts him to see me like this – and that hurts me even more and adds to my guilt. I feel ashamed about the cuts now, but it’s scary how already I feel the urge to cut even greater. I mean I felt the urge before but now that I’ve done it feels even more intense. So f****** strange.