They were not satisfying cuts. They weren’t the kind that bled a lot.
The glass was oddly shaped and left more welts than actual slices. I tried to break it again, but it wouldn’t break for the life of me. So I pressed harder until the unsatisfying, nearly bloodless sting left a scratch, a welt, and searing pain.
I finally got some decent ones after a while, but by then I was so raw and swollen that the blood couldn’t compensate for all of the damage done. Every cut I drew burned from the welts and rawness; it made the pain dissatisfying. It made it not the one I needed. It didn’t numb my emotions. It just made a mess.