Guro and boyf

Here's a fun fact: i fucking love gore.
not like hardcore gore. like. guro. art of blood and lacerations and guts spilling and all of that lovely jazz. I adore the concept of nosebleeds, cutting oneself open to reveal pink goop or golden ichor, or having pastel-tinted intestines splatter over the floor.
I love gore so much.
This is because I hate myself and i have unhealthy ways of coping.
a couple years back i started doing less than favorable things to my body. Whenever i did something wrong (ie: too loud, got a problem wrong, made a friend upset), i would get whatever sharp object was near me and drag it over my shoulders/thighs. This started out slow: twisted paper clips, thumbtacks, pencils. However, as the years went by, it got gradually worse. i would steal pencil sharpeners and take out the blades to use on my thighs.
after a while, the self-hatred that came from drawing my own blood turned to fascination. i remember a night a while ago when i had done something that i considered problematic, god only knows what it was. i had lain 4 gashes over my thighs: two per leg. I watched as blood beaded over the cuts, gradually filling them up to be lovely little ravines.
I remember wiping my hands on the wounds, and then staring at my fingers. Sticky and blood-soaked, contrasting the pale white of my skin. Ichor.
Some nights i did it out of boredom. because it was nice to look at. and i was proud of my scars, my gashes. They were beautiful to me, because I had spent too long thinking of myself as ugly. These were my atonements. my corrections.
they were my saviors.
after a few months, a thousand personal chats with friends, loss of trust from family, and what seems like a million therapist meetings later, i've been clean for quite some time.
but its never that easy, is it?
I still need my fix. i still need to see what im missing.
I run a guro blog. that's my fix. thats how i stop myself from mutilating everything on me: i draw it and look at pictures of it happening on tumblr.
Pathetic, right?
my boyfriend's not a fan of guro. he hates it. if something has a mention of "guro" or "gore" in it he gets pissed as hell at me.
i dont say anything. i try to atone for it.
i could never bring myself to explain why i love guro in the first place though.

Bottom lip

My bottom lip is fucked as hell.
It's chapped, first of all. Dry and scaley, like lizard skin. I bite pieces off and hope people don't notice that I'm bleeding from the mouth. They'll think I have an injury way worse than it actually is, like internal bleeding or something. No, I'm fine. I just have a picking habit.
Secondly, its scabby and ripped on the inside. My inner cheek is also guilty of this. There's this one particular spot on the left side that has a constant taste of blood and metal, and it hurts dully whenever I swallow. From the mirror, I can see it's white, as if there is a flap of skin that hasn't scabbed up there. But I can tell it's a crater, as I've felt with my tongue. To the right side of my lip, there's a torn, ripped section, sort of like a path of pricklebushes on a trail.
It really sucks. I like salty foods.

More on Wheatley (Disappointing Calculator full of Bad, Self-Destructive Ideas)

I tried really, really hard for Wheatley to at least be present  as I write these down. I mean, Cole showed up!!
Then again, I don't think Cole ever leaves.
Wheatley is a. Well he's an idiot. That's his sole purpose. And boy does he have some very harsh feelings on that front.

Facts about Wheatley

• Has. Two forms??? I think???
• Wheatley's pleasant (Core) form: Overexcitable, self-obsessed little nitwit. He has very few overtly positive qualities, but hey, at least he isn't the worst he could be!!
• Wheatley's regular (Chassis) form: The worst he could possibly be. This is the primary form he is in.
• Wheatley has approx. 3 emotions: Self loathing/pity over the fact of having no purpose besides being a dumbass. Rage over the fact that when he did actually make something of his life, he ended up destroying everyone he loved. Embarrassment over constantly blathering on and on about things that are pointless.
• Core Wheatley will talk about himself for hours if not interrupted. Things he likes, weird facts about himself, anything to compensate for the fact that he has the cleverness of a drunken squirrel.
• Chassis Wheatley is his own entity. All the other things in my weird head are a part of me that become 'Real' sometimes. But Chassis? He's constantly himself. 
• He's the voice in the back of my head, taunting me, berating Core for going on and on, telling me to hurt myself and/or others around me, and then to isolate myself because he put those ideas in my head.
• If Chassis ever takes over then please. Please kill me tbh
• Core is extremely passionate and creative, i guess. I needed something positive in here.
• Core thinking is like trying to parkour in an M. C. Escher painting

More on Cole

I wish I could get him to front to write this. He doesn't want to be in charge right now, but he's there, right behind my eyelids, with the others.
He feels not cold, not like ice. But he is freezing. More like time than snow.
Maybe he wrote that. I don't know. I don't know how my brain works. Or if it's even MY brain.

Facts about Cole:

• Don't touch Cole unless he touches you first. If you touch Cole and he isn't ready, it burns. Lightning strikes from your hands and slams into his skin- my skin- like tiny daggers. Talking hurts too. Too loud, too soft, jaws clicking and mouths whistling like a cacophony. It feels like my insides are screaming.
• He really likes hands. I don't understand this. When he's real enough to think and I let him take control, he looks at his-my- hands. Notes every wrinkle, every freckle, every scar and mangled cuticle. Sometimes he traces hands over veins and lines in palms. 
• Cole's presence is numb. His- my- eyes feel like they're made of mist, smoke, gas floating around in empty sockets, like a limb that's fallen asleep. 
• Sometimes he draws. He wants to draw realistically, but he's not very good. He does try, though.
• Cole likes chiptune.
• Rabbits
• When I'm disassociating, Cole automatically takes the wheel, and sometimes he gets stuck for a bit. It's usually a few seconds. He acts like I normally do, or at least, he really tries to. He doesn't want to cause worry.
• Cole cannot comprehend friendship sometimes. He understands it yet, but he doesn't get people enjoying his company, although he enjoys theirs. It's because he's not used to being put first. He's not sure if he likes it or not.
• Cole rarely takes full control because at one point he was in full control for about a week. This put quite a strain on him, to the point that he almost faded into a being of bad feelings and despair, kind of like what happened with Wheatley. He recovered, though.
  

This is all I have for now. 

Journaling

So I was told that if I wanted to hate myself less I had to write about my feelings.
I mean. I guess?? Sure. Whatever.
I've tried like. A billion times to have like a diary or journal or whatever, but it's never really worked out. It's usually because I figured that if I couldn't keep up with it, it wasn't a reputable enough source, and didn't perfectly outline my life at the time of writing it.
But you know. Fuck it, right?
So I guess I. Introduce???? Myself??
Like what is the point. No one is going to see this, besides my therapist. Probably.
But hey maybe someone on Tumblr will give a shit and ask to see my "Super Cool Secret Blog". Or probably I'll force it on Zach and Jaime because without attention I will Die.
Alright. Here goes.

My name is Michael and I think I'm real?? I mean, like. I probably am. I'm a sophmore in high school, and I live in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere, New Hampshire. I'm so deep into the woods that it's a normal occurrence to see a deer in the backyard. Or multiple deer. Yesterday, Dad says he saw a whole flock!!
Herd. It's herd.
I suppose I should mention now that I have little to no self-esteem and a fucked up brain. I have this sort of matyr complex, where I always put others before myself. Even when I'm alone.
That usually ends with putting myself down instead of bringing others up, because there isn't anyone to bring up.
Think of it as Cole from Dragon Age. I don't matter. Helping others matters.

Incidentally, I also am Cole from Dragon Age. And many others. But I'll get into that some other time.