I have self-injury scars all over. and as aforementioned in my previous entry (written on Mar 24, but apparently never posted until moments ago, lol), I have long slices into my forearms from a para-suicidal decision/mistake. I didn’t get proper stiches (just butterfly-stitched them myself, as I usually do with my deeper self-retaliations), so the scars are very bright, bold, puffy, and obvious. people frequently attempt to hide or restrict their passing glances and less-than-subtle inspections.
butbyou know, I don’t mind. I really don’t. I don’t mind them looking and wondering. I mind even less them actually asking me about them (which happens occasionally). hell, I’m not even bothered when people believe that I truely attempted to kill myself.
what does bother me, however, what legitimately causes me discomfort and almost upsets me, is when they believe I failed at killing myself.
if I really attempted to end my life in en fanality, I would not fail; I would not fuck that up.
and I’m not really sure what that says about me…. but hey, you know, whatever. at least it means I’m interesting, right??