i've come to a realization:

for years, i spent my life in a glass house,
threw stones and eventually it all crashed down.
i spent months alone, contemplating solutions to my sadness
but always came up emptier than before.

while i waited for someone to come along,
i grew cold and dead inside.

now im here, alone in my bedroom
and again, im scheming what to do if i become cold again.
i know that no amount of blankets can warm a stone heart
but what do i do when i want to be warm again?

i am not what i wanted to be.

so here's where i ask the question:
who was i to play god?
to pass judgement on those less than i?
who was i to come to conclusions about others
that i hadn't even come to for myself?

and i am a hypocrite.

i broke the cigarettes that kept my grandparents sane
flushed them down the toilet and vowed never to touch them.
i just had one not a half hour ago, nicotine headache.
i called my mom an alchoholic when she drank a bottle of wine
yet i turn to it every time i hit rock bottom.
i watched as my grandma suffered the aftermath of drug abuse
but i still wondered what it was like to be high.

i guess you can call it self-hatred.

so, realiztion:
i am addicted to self mutilation,
the kind that does not involve a razorblade.