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Bleeding Underneath
My friend Sam came over today. He came because it was a warm sunny day, because his car is fixed, because he wanted to see me. He came at the wrong time. When he arrived, I was already bleeding heavily, from my stomach this time, and I had to try to clean up and put on a good face. I used a few paper towels, and then put on a black shirt, so he couldn't see the blood leaking out. We climbed a tree, sat there, and talked. If he had known that the whole time, blood was slowly pouring out of me, he would have been so upset. Maybe not mad, but upset.
I feel sick that I could sit there with absolutely no remorse about keeping silent. I had never kept my self harm from my friends, even if telling them meant nothing. They never tell anyone. They never try to help me.
I can never cut again. I'm afraid to. I know I will. It's almost inevitable at this point, but I have to try not to. I have to many scars and not enough freedom. But I can't stop thinking about the feeling when you burn or cut. The pain that simmers for a moment, then releases itself into relaxation and peace. But I am ashamed. I can never cut again.
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