Acbatark
I’m fourteen and I live in Buffalo, New York and I have not self-injured in what I think has been three months now. I have not been suicidal or even clinically depressed in weeks and weeks, and I don’t believe I’ve ever been happier. But I still have scars, naturally, and here they are, and they are what I live with every day. The first picture is of my outer left leg. Mostly there is just one burn scar and that scar is over a year old now. Picture two is my inner left leg — the cuts that are visible were accidental, and what I did to myself was much worse than that. The large, roundish scar is from a third degree burn that I did to myself fourteen months ago. Picture three is my upper left arm. Every scar there is from a cut that went down to the fat, some of them hitting veins. Fun. My shoulder looks off because I moved my arm whilst scanning it. Picture four is my inner right leg. The round scar is from another third degree burn last April. The three faded ones in the middle are all over a year and a half old — the round ones are from burns. The top is just from a cut. The last picture is a scan of my left forearm. All those cuts were to the fat as well. Underneath them there are faded white scars that say “FREAK” but they aren’t very noticeable anymore. The scar in the middle is a keloid, or so my doctor says. It’s just lovely. I hate my scars. There are more, but I am not scanning the worst ones.
