Psyke.org

Scars

Promises, Lies & a Box of Weapons…

Copyright, Scars

I guess this is it, my life, in a few lines on a computer, nice way of looking at this, ain’t it?

I’m thirteen years old, and yeah, my name ain’t really scars (d’uh). I won’t say it, if they ever found it they’d freak, totally. When I was seven years old my brother made me think it was OK for him to have sex with me. After a few times of that hell, it was over, and I put it to the back of my mind, forgot it totally. When I was nearly thirteen, something happened to me, a guy messed me around, and it hurt, brought it all back. I started having flashbaks of it all, but i didn’t tell anyone and I never have, really. They were horrible, and after all that I started cutting. At first I used a compas, and I never drew blood. Now I’ll use anything, but cleaning is an obsession. I especially like pins, a little box of them, I keep them for school, and I cut a few times a day, only usually creating one wound per session. I’ev overdosed once, and I’ve walked into the road once. I’ve done my wrist twice, and when the worst thing happens it’s probably going to be a lot more. I told my mates, and they are helping more than anything in the world, then I started counselling. I told them about this, and now they say they have to tell my mum and dad. It’s probably gonna happen on friday, and I’m so scared of this. I’m scared that the flashbacks will never stop, I’m scared of myself, I’m scared of my stash of weapons, and my stash of wet rags and bandages and plasters. I hope this helps someone out there, for fucks sake don’t cut! And if you start, stop while you can, and if you can’t, then cut where no one can see, cut your legs, the tops of them, where your shorts cover.

I told my mates at St. Johns, but no one understands me. I’ll stik with it though, I won’t let him win, no matter how much harm I cause myself, I ain’t gonna die. Not yet, anyway. I just want to say I’m sorry, to all my mates who have to listen to me, to all the times I’ve broken my promises, and for all the times you’ve seen my scars and needed to cry, but felt you couldn’t. I love you all.

 

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