After last nights desperation, sitting on my bed watching the sun rise along the Victorian roofs of Philadelphia, I feel little solace. Now more than ever I am aware of myself and the destructive nature I posses. The problem exerts itself that I am too aware of human emotion and I understand all to well how much I can hurt others. This is crucial to understanding my psyche, i realize that now. I have hurt him and in doing so I have hurt my own heart. But that is the only way of protecting myself, if i break my own heart how can anyone else do the same? If I destroy myself, the guilt is left to me and no one else. How strange that this is how I protect the people I love; I push them away and blame myself. I've done this my whole life and yet I still don't understand my incessant need to self mutilate- or maybe I'm only fooling myself too.
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