Part 1 of my life i guess. I just wanna chronicle how i became so fucked up.

I’m normally a happy person. Well. No i’m not. I’ve always scratched at things and made them bleed for as long as I can remember. like…grade 4. By grade 8 if i didn’t have something to pick at, I’d make something. They started out as pretty pictures, not cutting mind you, I etched them into my skin. A heart with a K+J inside it…the ‘j’ was backwards. a 666 like in the omen on my ankle, a pentagram on my hand. all immature things that i thought were so cool. 

Next came words. “The End” etched into my knee, Pain on my right hip, Escape on my arm, etc.

Bu grade 10 it devolved, i’d figured out how to dismantled a razor a blade and i was pretty nifty with it, shallow cuts on my legs and wrists, Never my back, never my stomach, rarely my face. I never really cared about hiding it, but i wasn’t like LOOK AT MY CUTS EITHER.   And the summer before my second year of university I stopped. after 10 years of blood, and 6 years of cutting, I stopped. for about 4 months.