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Feeling this way only makes me want to cut. I've been trying so hard to stop doing it and to stop being ashamed of the scars I still have, but it's just creeping back up to me and it's getting harder and harder to resist the temptation.
i find both aesthetically pleasing. piercings are almost acceptable... i wear mine with pride on my face. cutting is not, so i wear long sleeves in the summer... but roll them up in the elevator to admire the way my arm looks. i have so many scars, they'll just fade away and blend in anyway.
i thought i was the only one that felt like this, until he ran his fingertips over my scars and said, "it's like a van gogh painting." i am not really sure if he realized that what he said made me smile inside, because all i could say was "what the fuck?"
maybe i just justify it because i'm way too old for this shit and yet haven't outgrown it. because it's shame wrapped in pride wrapped in shame. because that way it isn't "emo." because if it's scarification it's not shallow. who knows.
It's strange how cutting once can make you want to do it again, and again. The way the skin around a fresh cut rises, turns red, it's practically begging to be cut again. It's like it's moving toward the blade.
I never wanted to tell even fellow cutters about my habit, because my cuts tend to be small, hidden, and infrequent. I almost felt like the way that I cut isn't real cutting. Like I would be shunned because my arms aren't covered in scars.
I think about it all the time. I wonder if it would make me feel better. Whenever my life is at a really low point I want to try it. When some of my friends used to cut they said that it made them feel better. I don't know why I can't do it. I've had the razor in my hand before but somehow I didn't do it. Knowing my family I'd probably get caught as soon as i did it.
However, I could never go through the aftermath again. It was too much drama and too much sadness caused by my actions to keep from being so sad. I just miss the sensation of the lacerations across my pale skin.
All three of us had done it before, and all three of us yelled at the other two when we found out. We were all worried about the other two, and yet we were doing what the other two were worried about. We were all such hypocrites, but strangely it brought us closer together. It's a fucking crazy world.