I Love My Scars, They Are Part Of Me And My Story, They Are Proof That I Survived Although It Was Not

BAHAHAHAHAH SAME

"fuck you my child is completely fine"

Your child has 8 pencil sharpeners yet none of them have the blades in them and wears hoodies in the summer

It's me I'm the child

#selfh4rm #cvts #s3lfh@rm #styrotwt #styrocvts #bl@des looking 4 mutuals:)

I couldn’t not share this…

Relapsed

I relapsed today. I was almost a week clean. I relapsed for a stupid peice of shit who doesn't give a fuck and can never understand me but I expect them to do so. I'm such an idiot. I keep getting myself hurt

Andd this is why I cut myself off from everyone and no longer reply to messages :)

Friendships/relationships are exhausting, and I’m starting to wonder if its even worth it anymore. I’m the only one who tries anymore. I’m the only one sending the first text, I’m the only one who initiates hanging out, I’m the only one who cares. What’s even the point? 

I myself am an ashtray. I keep lighting up and

stubbing myself out.

I take a breath and consume my own smoke.

Poison after poison,

my knack for self-preservation outweighs

my self-destruction by a single ash.

Where do I keep these butts of hope?

Half charred reminders that I almost

burnt out completely, twenty times over.

I paint it from every angle, but the truth remains:

Self-inflicted damage won’t disguise the

marks someone else left.

I've tried it once and samee

you know what i find interesting? those stories about suicide survivors that say they realized every one of their problems could be solved without suicide as they were attempting (and obviously failed). they were glad to have failed, and use this to encourage others not to commit suicide.

but for me, i’ve personally attempted twice. I’ve only felt even sadder that I didn’t die. so yea, pretty much guaranteed that suicide is what it’s gonna be for me.

I need it

My scars have been fading as well and their barely there at this point but if you really want to see them you can, this is exactly how I feel.

You can’t see them anymore, my scars, unless you really want to. 

I have photos to prove that they were there. 

And I have enough hatred for myself left to see them now. 

They’re going to get clearer and clearer and I’m going to hate myself more and more and I don’t want people to put up with that. 

But at the same time, I can’t bring myself to keep them faded. 

Because they’re a part of me, now, forever. Battle scars. 

Maybe, also, it’s a part of feeling valid. As if seeing them makes me entitled to the bad days that I occasionally have. The days of suffocating panic and the constant ‘scars, scars, scars, scars’ that runs through my head. 

Well, look. I don’t have these days often, and they come with the reappearance of my scars in summertime. 

So, really, I’m just silly. 

I just want to love myself. Scars and all. 

And I can’t just get rid of them. That wouldn’t be fair. 

So what am I meant to do?

Ignoring them doesn’t work, and hiding them isn’t practical. 

They’re starting to reappear, slowly. The sun has that effect. 

I dislike it but why am I making no effort to fix it?

I think I covered that, but I do have the tendency to circle. 

I want to cry and that is remarkably stupid but I do. 

I do.