I started cutting when I first started high school. I was into the goth scene, and thought of it as a way to channel all of of my sadness, frustration and anger. At first I used to see it as like a fucking goal, every scar added to my arm was like another victory; and to be quite honest I even felt proud of having them.
As time flew by, I barely found space in my arm to add another scar, and lately every cut I made became deeper and deeper, and before I even saw it coming I was already trying to cut my wrists.
Sometimes I would do it from two to three times every day, and I remember how by the end of the day my arms hurt so bad that I didn’t even pay attention to them.
This situation stayed like this for almost a year; I met my current boyfriend Victor, and I started going to therapy, I can say that he truly saved my life, and I’m not gonna lie to you and say that I dont do it anymore, I do, and every time I fall again I feel like if I took a step backwards; and there’s no worse feeling in the world, than knowing you’re not getting any better.