written October 25th, 2025
in Australia, it's warming up. I've noticed that in the heat of summer my scars always seem more noticeable. at least, I'm noticing them. either it's my short sleeves or I'm tanning.
in one more week I'll be a year clean of cutting.
most of my memories of hurting myself have been in the heat of summer, or tinged by the memory of it. cutting far up on my thighs so nobody could see, and peeling them up to show the scars barely healed anyways. my brother (born in June) sitting on the side door steps, bleeding through his jeans. acting like he doesn't care when I know he wants me to notice. I'm wearing long sleeves despite the temperature because I'm ashamed I'm hurting again, and everyone can see and everyone will pity me -- secretly, I want that, secretly, I despise it.
I'm not doing this for anyone but myself.
November 1st, 2020, is the last time I cut myself. I took pictures to remember it by. even though the urge is nowhere near what it once was, still I am towed under the wave of anger, frustration, grief, powerlessness that made me want to cut in the first place. of not fitting into my own skin and wanting more than anything to be something else. a pointless punishment and a tangible expression of pain.
I first stopped because my then-partner asked me to, made it a Rule. only under supervision, with medical treatment at the ready, could I indulge in a little self-annihilation. in practice this was never allowed and there was always an excuse not to. the bandages are in another room, I'm too scared of infection today, we're low on alcohol wipes. there's a plague and I want you to live. clever excuses, sure, they worked. but it always felt like laziness against the pleasure of pain. the relief of expression. maybe it was protection. maybe thon was scared. it doesn't matter after thon abandoned me.
I'm not doing this for anyone but myself.
no matter how badly I want to, how much the grief and nostalgia of an older pain beckons (emotion reaching for me through the dark of memory) I can't break this promise to myself. I know the pain and what it feels like, I have weathered this storm before and I will again. I know I will.
happy five years, and hopefully, another happy five.
