I wear a wristwatch just so I can hide the scars under it. In fact, I’ve become so used to hiding my scars that I feel quite insecure without wearing a wristwatch.
I should’ve never cut.
Cutting wasn’t a solution to anything. Damn it, I knew it, but why didn’t I stop? Why, oh why did I cut on the same place over and over again – thereby making it impossible to heal? Self-harming only brought me more hardships and more self-hate. The temporary bliss I felt from seeing myself bleed could never compete with the cuts I inflicted upon myself.
I should’ve gone to a psychiatrist. Anything is better than having scars. Talking to a professional- maybe I wouldn’t have been able to reveal the whole truth to a doctor but still – must have been helpful.
I hate myself for cutting. The scars are so damn fucking hideous.
The cat excuse is so overused too. Fuck.