The speaker describes a frightening shift in how they relate to hurting themselves. At first it was a punishment, something tied to guilt or a reason. Now it has become a "hobby," a casual urge that shows up even when nothing bad has happened and they don't feel upset. The poem catches this in the middle of the moment: "just like now," the speaker admits, as the thought arrives with no trigger at all.
The flat, offhand tone is what makes it so unsettling. Calling it "a fun hobby" sounds like a joke, but it reads more like a defence, a way of making something painful seem ordinary. The last line drops that act. "How did i end up so fucked" is bewildered and raw, and it suggests the speaker is scared by how normal this has started to feel. The mood is numb, confused, and quietly desperate.
If this feels close to your own life, talking to someone you trust or a local crisis line can help.