But I was in so much pain, and someone I loved did it.
So I did it to feel her pain.
And it's addicting.
Watching the tool slide across my arm, the pain that came with it.
The pain that took away my feelings inside, if only for a moment.
Because in that moment I felt nothing. I thought nothing. I was entranced with the action.
I never liked the smell or taste of blood, but I had to ignore it.
They weren't very dark lines the first time. Only one left a scar.
I did it because I hated myself for what I'd done to the person I loved the most.
I did it because she did it.
I did it because she was in pain, so I was in even more pain. It had been my fault.
Then more things happened. I made promises that I broke, but then decided to promise myself to never break any more promises.
Those promises were the only things that kept the tool out of my hand.
That kept my body from more scars, and let the others heal.
Those promises kept me going.
Now I'm 15, but 6 months have gone by. It feels like 6 years. So many things happened, and i changed.
But after those 6 months, I forgot about my promises. My thoughts came back.
And along with my thoughts I pulled out my tools.
I did it again. I kept a straight face. This time was different. I saw my skin as a canvas, and I daydreamed of ideas of drawings.
My first drawing was a smiley face, drawn in blood. How ironic. But that was the point.
My other drawings were simply lines. In multiple places. I was experimenting with my new canvas and my old yet very familiar tool.
These lines were different.
Some were the same as 6 months ago, but two were different.
The smiley face was deeper than before, and my lines after that were thinner. Simply testers.
But after the tests, I made the thickest line I've ever made. It went down my upper arm, so I'd have to wear long sleeves, and could roll them up as long as I was careful.
These lines I can still see on my body, dried blood. I don't know if they will leave scars.
I have other drawing ideas, but I'm not sure about doing them. I don't know if I want to pick up the tool again.
One is an x over my heart. For symbolic reasons.
The other is this symbol: I-/. Members of the clique will understand.
This canvas is never-ending. But I want to hide my work. If I don't, others will take notice and judge me for it. Or they will bring me to critics who will want to talk to me and discourage my work.
Written: April or May of 2017, I don't really know exactly when
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
