my scar has been staring at me

well one ofmany

i have about 5 that stand out, that can still really e seeen. There is still aplace on my arm where the skin was once in shreds that will orbably never bs moth again, but it isso subtle that i am the only one who will ever really ntoice it

i gave those to myself

on my knee is a subtle scar, from when i was ten and i tried to shave my legs without asking mom how, i gouged my kneed soemthing horrible and shaving crema got into the wound . . . . its hard to see, but still noticeable

on the top of my thigh i have a series of slashes, know thing red lines that have avoided the fading of time and somehow rpevailed on my skin above the pale color

i did them myself in a fit of anger, there were once near a hundred slashes int aht spot, dont wuickly with my scissors. . . . now only about 7 remain.

on the back of my middle finger on my right hand is a scar . . . from a burn i received trying to cook . . . . i was making salad and boiling an egg . . . and somehow burned myself, the hand healed the scab covered it but that one small spot never went a way, a small purple and pink marker on my skin, coverd by my class ring usually

then my personal favorite, i should name it maybe, something ironic like scabby

it was the first time i ever cut myself,at least the first time in rage, the first time i realized what iw as doing, i took the compass, used for making circles and i dug it into the abck of my wrist, goinging veritcally i just dug into msyelf over and ver and over . . . for what seeme dlike forever, i barely saw a drop of blood, it wa nearlyinfected, i had to put peroxide on it for days before my paranoia of an infetion subsided

mothe raksed wher eit came form, i told her i didnt rmemeber . . . .

i did rememeber , , , u tikd everyone different stories, mostof which invovled an ambiguous incident in which "iguess i must have cut msyelf" and never told the truth to anyones face

but that was not the first time i scarred msyelf

i cant see it now but i know it is there on my fignertip, i cant tell which finger it was anymore. i was int he bathroom just standign around, not wating to go out for some reasona nd i saw my fathers exacto knife, sitting on the counter, left from when he had been doing some work in the bathroom. I wondered how sharp it was and teste dhte blade with my finger, it was sharp . . . so then i ran my finger across it and wtched it bleed, in a sort of fascination, not knowing or udnerstand how or why i had done it.

and that was where it ha dall began, in soem state of mrobid fascination back when i still tended to my wound sand put on band aids and antiseptic

i miss it sometimes, right now . . .as i write this, all i cant think about is cutting again, how nice it would be, i cant tell what keeps me from doing it . . but soemthing is protecting me

thank the diety for that