I hate my scars.

Yeah.
I used to cut. Pretty bad. Shoulder, legs, wrists..
And I miss it. I haven't cut since August and I'm kind of proud and it kind of depresses me.
I had some really complicated reasons for cutting, but they were reasons all the same.

The downside is the fact that I never fail to leave a scar. You see pictures of scars that go all the way across the arm and stuff. But mine weren't so much long as they were deep.

I have to wear bracelets now. I'm not sure if they're all that noticeable, but they look it to me.

And I hate them. I hate my scars.
They leave me branded and shout the fact that at one point I didn't know who I was.
That at several points, I broke.
That I have a weakness for sharp objects.

I can't help it. If I see a knife or something, my mind goes to cutting.

It says that I'm broken.

Some girl saw the scars on my shoulder last week. She screamed "OH MY GAWWDDDD! What HAPPENED?!"
Not that they're extreme. But you can tell there was a knife involved.

No one wants a person that's been broken this much. And I don't blame them.

I've cut, starved, bruised myself, popped pills...
By some misfortune, I'm alive.

And I've promised to stay that way.