Once again, I wanted to kill something in myself, wanted to bleed it out until I was left with the bare, clean baseline, the absolute zero from which point i could rebuild a better version of myself.


Could my history be read on my face?
~Skin Game pg123


I still cant quite convince myself that anyone has ever loved me enough to be sorry when I was gone.


What happened next was that a perfect, straight line of blood bloomed from under the edge of the blade. The line grew into a long, fat bubble, a lush crimson bubble that got bigger and bigger. I watched from above, waiting to see how big it would get before it burst. When it did, i felt awesome. Satisfied, finally. then exhausted.
~Cut, Patricia McCormick pg3


Your black leather chair groans like a living thing. Like a cow it used to be before somebody killed it and turned it into a chair in a shrinks office in a loony bin.
~Cut, Patricia McCormick pg1


I wanted to cut for the cut itself, for the delicate severing of capillaries, the transgression of veins. I needed to cut the way your lungs scream for air when you swim the length of the pool underwater in one breath.
~Skin Game: a memoir, Caroline Kettlewell pg13


The idea and urge to cut seemed to arise from my very skin itself.
~Skin Game pg58


I cut for dread of the future
~Skin Game pg65