I remember a time after a night of self inflicted pain, I would get in the shower the next morning and try to scrub away he guilt, scrub away my scars, only to make the fresh cuts bleed. I dont know what would go through my head, but guilt filled my eyes. I will never forget the first time, I held the bright orange handled sizzor agains my pale forearm, I was so sad, so angery at myself. Sitting on the floor in my room, I dragged it across my skin and it was an instant releif from my pent up sadness, my depression. I was free. I found an outlet that was only me and the inside of my grey j crew sweater new about. But it stung. It hurt so bad the next day I prayed how much I could wash it all away. From that day foward, I was scarred for life. Excuses of snagging my skin on a fence by accident to my mother, I wish she knew the pain I was feeling on the inside.
I drew a blue ink star over one of my scars on my ankle last night. I wish I could do that all over my body. To symbolize dreams, to symbolize my pain on each point of those stars.
I was thinking about all of this when I took a bath tonight, before I went to borders. I glanced down at my ankle in the water. I saw the water turn blue around where I had drew the star, I remebered the blood that once flowed from theses scars into my bath water. I scrubbed the ink off and slowly appeared under my raw red skin, the scars that I so desperatly try to cover. I use blue ink now to express my feelings, but once it was red. I glanced at my scars, and asked myself... did I really want to give this up?