Scars, and saying goodbye to the past.

The scars on my arm are gone, the scars on my legs are fading. I should be happy, so why is it that part of me misses the lines?

April, I haven't cut since April. The memories of my mother finding out still hurt. Her telling me that it was stupid. That I was being stupid, that I was just doing it to be cool, still hurts. Instead of the comfort the understanding I needed from her I got the opposite. I had never wanted to kill myself more then that day. I thought of so many ways. Of the many pills my mother had, the rope in the trunk of the car, and even the large knives in the kitchen. But I didn't.

And now in August the scars on my arm have vanished. The ones on my legs almost gone. It scares me, I consider that time in my life the darkest. But because of that time I enjoy this lighter time more. But without the reminder of the past pain I'm afraid. Afraid that I'll fall back into it. Afraid that I'll forget the looks my friends gave me during gym. Forget that by stopping my hurt for a few hours, I increased it in others.

And another part thinks about the fact that I still have a piece of sharp metal and my make-up bag. That neither my mom or sister knows about, nor would they be able to recognize for what it is. I never used a razor, ever. It craves the release, the freedom the rush I got from seeing my blood. From knowing that I did it to myself, no one us did it. I did it. With my first relationship falling apart it becomes harder to ignore that part of me. With the girl I cheated on my boyfriend with sinking deeper into her own problems of anorexia it gets harder and I'm so afraid for her.

Losing the scars makes me feel like I'm losing part of my past that I'm not ready to say goodbye to.