Recovery Is Such An Ugly Word...

I'm supposed to be doing better, but lately, I'm not. I'm supposed to be reading some article about failure for my psych class, but I'm staring at my scars instead.This is my failure. I feel like I'm re-visiting my past over and over, but only the bad parts.
I can't stop myself. I can't stop myself from hurting my body. I can't stop myself from hurting my mind. I can't stop myself from killing me. I ask others to do it for me, but I just don't want to face the fact that I'm already doing it myself.
Look at how pretty these scars are. Long, white, slightly raised... I like those kind the best. There's a sort of... perfection to them.
Silly little girl. Rolling down your sleeves won't make the past go away. You're just hiding it. Even if they fade, your scars will always be there.
How stubborn are these scars when they wont fade away, or just a gentle reminder that now are better days? But that's not true. Now aren't better days. You may want them to be, but deep down, it's all still the same.
"Do you have a cat?"
"Did you get attacked by something?"
"What kind of monster gave you those scars?"
Me. I did. I gave them to myself. I am the monster here. I hurt others too. I lie. I fake. I abuse. It hurts them more than it hurts me.
somethingbecomingnothing somethingbecomingnothing
22-25, F
Jan 14, 2013