want

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want

I came to the conclusion that I wanted to cut. I wanted to feel the blade slice my skin open.

Masochism.

I walked out of the bathroom wearing a long sleeve shirt.

My excuse was that my old cuts, the scars, made people stare. Everyone understood that, even though it was 89 degrees outside.

I never mentioned anything about new cuts (I mean, who would?).

It was getting easier and easier.

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