One love...
One life...
One memory...
One life...
One memory...
I have been thinking about the marks on my wrist...the slashes of torn skin that bled for almost an hour, and stung all day... Why did I do it? I kept asking myself the same question as I sat in the car next to my energetic mom.
Here is what I came up with:
Being depressed from a past incident, and having that history follow you creates a lot of grief. I found myself overwhelmed with that past, school, etc...and couldn't bear it. To me....cutting is letting myself know that I am still alive. The pain of the broken razor on my thigh or wrist indicates...that I can feel something, because right now I feel empty. Hollow. Lonely.
Now, my question for you is: Why do you cut? (That is, if you do.)
That's the truth...
