Yesterday we went to the beach. I wish I could have drowned myself. I should have. One more chance, gone. When I was walking along the beach I thought my scars were pretty much healed, but when I looked over on them, they were just sitting there glittering in the sunlight. all those marks, letters, long nights of crying and cutting finally paid off. I don’t think my scars are going to completely go away anymore. These scars are a part of me. They are a part of my soul. each one reminds me of all the times I cried, all the times I failed to be strong. These marks remind me that the past was real. And yeah, I know that’s stupid to be reminded about, but I love my beautiful scars. It makes me part of who I am.
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The fresh cuts more than the scars bother me, because most of mine are healed now, although I know that they will probably never fade completely.
Under UV light there are many of them, however. I found that out standing under the lights during one night out. I gain the separate but both very strong feelings of total elation and crippling insecurity when I look at them.
I just feel rally happy when I see my scars, though I wish I could cut, I want to sooo badly, but dad will get mad at me
I know what you mean, there’s scars on my arm that still spell out clearly the words “bloody kisses” and I carved that into my flesh when I was 18 and I’m 26 now
i carve things into myself everyday. it is a part of me now.
I wish I could carve everyday. I carved several words, the biggest one, “alone”
The only word I ever carved into my skin, which is a very important word for me, faded immediately. I do love my scars, but they also make me want to cut again, and I don’t think I should do that.
why not? what’s wrong with cutting?