Copyright Cora

Last year when I was thirteen, mostly the summer time until late September I’ve been cutting myself. It was mainly because of my mom. Once she saw the scars on my arms, she called the therapist up, and I was going there for about two months. But I’m sayin, it really didn’t help. It was just a waste of my mom’s money, time, and especially my time.

After therapy was over, I cut myself only a few times until November. Ever since then I’ve stopped for some reason. I don’t know why. Maybe I didn’t need to do it anymore.

But every now and then, I think about cutting and want to remember the feeling. Just once and see how it would feel again to have my blood run down my arm, then wash it down the bathroom sink. I only cut myself on my arms. When I used to cut, I used scissors and knives. I liked the feeling after I cut myself because, well, I felt better.

Well it’s now the end of May and I don’t cut myself anymore. The only thing I have left of those memories is the scars on my arms. I really don’t want them there anymore, but hey, I chose to do it, and now I have to live with it.


Permanent location: