really depressed right now.
i have five razor blades locked in a box in my room, and a sixth one hidden in my wallet. it's funny how an inanimate object can have so much power over you. they call me offering consolation, they entice me with the way they shine, and they ultimately conquer me.
for the past few years, i've tried to keep away from anywhere visible, because i supposedly "stopped." but now i have literally dozens of huge scars all over my thighs. i've had so many boyfriends tell me that my legs are disgusting, but i don't really mind my scars. i'm not exactly proud of them, i'm just used to them.