Written on Tuesday:

Every time I look in the mirror, I see the scars of my past, literally. Though my friends use to check my wrists occasionally, that doesn’t mean I didn’t commit self-harm. Now believe me, I’ve been very close to cutting myself but I’ve always stop because a) I’m too lazy or depressed to leave my room to get a knife or razor, b) If I do have a knife or razor, I chicken out because the pain scares me and c) I know when I see the crimson blood, I will either faint, freak out and/or regret it so much. Now one tool I couldn’t escape was my nails. Now believe me when I say that when you are in such a deep darkness that you are truly considering self-harm, there is no logical thinking and nothing fills your mind but conflicting self-harm. That darkness is overpowering and addictive. And when your tool of choice is always with you or in my case always attached to you, there is nothing to slow your mind and prevent you from hurting yourself. When you have to go get your tool this leaves time for your mind to possibly settle enough to do some rational thought and stop your actions which is what stopped me most of the time. But sometimes the darkness is so thick not even a few moments of time would let rational thinking surface. And I have the scars to prove that. Not many and they aren’t big, barely even noticeable. Actually most people can’t tell but that’s not what matters, I know they are there and they are a constant reminder. I would have more and bigger ones but I am lucky enough to have skin that doesn’t scar for a long time. I have torn skin off my face, stomach, arms, shoulders and back. The only scars are on my shoulders. I remember once, I laid in my bed, bawling, the tears were pouring down my face and nothing filled my mind but how I needed to feel pain, I needed to be hurt, I needed the pain. I wanted to draw blood so badly, I wanted to see the crimson red blood pour out of my skin, and I pulled and scratched at my stomach. When I couldn’t draw blood with all my trying, I got mad and the pain started to show and then the anger turned to sadness. My hands dropped, I turned over and cried myself into a slumber. I never got the taste of blood and I’m glad. If during any of these times, I had drawn blood, I would probably be addicted and probably still harming myself now. Why did this come to me? What brought this? I looked at myself in the mirror after a shower. I saw those scars. So I was watching Scarred. I don’t know why I put myself through that. I was on the second episode in a row and my Hemopobia was getting worse and I was feeling really nauseous. But yet I continued to watch. My mind and body conflict. My mind loves watching people do stupid things and get hurt and gore whereas my body is Hemophobic and can’t stand blood. But I deal with it because I like the shows but it really sucks when you have to get up and leave sometimes because you are shaking and feeling sick.