I Don't Know How It Started. But In My Head, It Never Stops

I hate looking down at my wrist and seeing the cuts. It makes me mad because it's reminding me that I broke a promise to people.
~

For the first time in months, I felt together. Sharp. In hurting myself, I had at last found a way to release the pressure.

But it was more than that. I was now different. I felt different. I’d discovered a way to control my feelings. Just because self-mutilation wasn’t deemed an acceptable coping mechanism didn’t mean I was going to stop doing it.

~
I know that I have to stop. I know that I have to find help. I feel bad for doing it. But let's look at the bright side, I'm not drinking, or doing drugs. I'm completely sober.
There is someone in my life right now, is stuck in between everything (or so he says) and he hates it. He resorts to drugs to get rid of the feeling. He shouldn't do that. I've told him multiple times that I was there for him.
<3