This was written a while ago.
4 years ago, I told my family and close friends that I struggle with cutting myself as an outlet for the anger and pain I hid inside. 3 years ago, I left home to seek treatment for the way I was treating myself. 2 years ago, I moved back home, equipped with tools and methods to ignore that struggle, and to move forward. 1 year ago, I stood over the fragmented mirror I had just dropped, struggling whether to go back, or stay strong.

This was the passion I poured onto the page, black ink bleeding into the new page like I wanted to watch my blood pour out.

With God's strength, I resisted, and this poem and my memory is the only testaments to that struggle; not scars imprinted on my skin.

Today, I can honestly say, I'm not cured. I don't know if I'll revert tomorrow, the next day, next week, next year, or not at all. But I can say, I'm not a cutter today. I didn't cut yesterday.

And I'll do my best not to cut tomorrow.





If you struggle with cutting or self abuse, please, talk to someone. Be it your best friend, Mum, sister; or even a complete stranger like me, it will do you more help to speak it out than to keep it in.
Because when you keep it in, it hurts until it comes out.
I know.