I posted the beginning of this
yesterday.. a few people said they would read it so i figured
.. why
not?
if you
want to read it from the beginning, go to my profile
c:
-From that day on, everytime I saw the
blade I had to have it. I had to scrape the tip on my arm and
feel pain; it was a good pain. A pain that I had control over,
and only me. At first there wasn’t much of a release, it
was just something I had full control over, something I could do,
that only I knew about. After the first few cuts it became an
addiction. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into, if I had,
it wouldn’t have happened. But that’s the thing; you
don’t know. You never know.. until its too late. If I had
known, I probably would have kept it to myself, but I’m
really bad at keeping something inside, and I told my best
friend. We were only 11.. neither of us understood. I showed her.
I showed her as I dragged the tip of the same blade across my
wrist; a new scar.. that I still bear today. I showed her the
blood pour. She must have been horrified. At first she was
speechless, but soon jumped up and yelled at me to stop.
“Stop! How do you do that?” she must have thought I
was insane. We were real close though, as far as I know she never
told anyone.
Feed back?
