You are suddenly done with things. You want to measure the extent of your weakness and cut it off. Inch by inch. You find your scissors and start cutting with all the skill that pain left behind. For once, all is good. The pain is gone. For once, you are good, without any weakness. But then one day you realize it’s growing again. You take out your scissors but there’s no point. You know that it will grow again. And again. You cannot cut it off now.
It is so deep inside you that you no longer understand the reason of its existence, nor can you dictate it any more. You have lost command. You cannot cut off a tree that grows without roots, in spite of the axes that slay it. When the panic is over and the breath comes again, slowly, helplessly, you give in.
You cannot, cut yourself.