I thought the scratches faded and weren't that noticeable. But today, B found out about it and you know how bad I am at hiding. So they know. Oh my god, they must think how weak as a person I am to do such thing. Or how I was craving attention or something. Geez I couldn't even state a valid explanation to T, I don't knowi it was just so much, I didn't know how to say to her; where to start why I did it to myself. I am so ashamed. How can those faded out things came in notice? I almost forgot I had them, I almost forgot about the night I tried to harm myself in someway possible. I almost forgot I felt low, like the lowest human being who was just a wasted space on this earth. But after that night, the week I pulled my shit together, all I could, and I did feel a bit strong and I promised myself I will never ever do such thing ever. But I feel like doing it again for the sake of doing it. No I am not gonna do it. This weekend I am gonna stay positive. Yes. I won't crave such thing. I matter. I do. That's enough for me not to cut my skin.
“If I had a camera," I said, "I'd take a picture of you every day. That way I'd remember how you looked every single day of your life." "I look exactly the same." "No, you don't. You're changing all the time. Every day a tiny bit. If I could, I'd keep a record of it all." "If you're so smart, how did I change today?" "You got a fraction of a millimeter taller, for one thing. Your hair grew a fraction of a millimeter longer. And your breasts grew a fraction of a—" "They did not!" "Yes, they did." "Did NOT." "Did too." "What else, you big pig?" "You got a little happier and also a little sadder." "Meaning they cancel out each other, leaving me exactly the same." "Not at all. The fact that you got a little happier today doesn't change the fact that you also become a little sadder. Every day you become a little more of both, which me...
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