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?? 
James the Greatest 
The only thing that kept me from killing myself is survival instinct. I wasn’t strong enough to overcome it.
In general, cutting isn’t a good suicide method. It takes a deep cut in the right blood vessel for it to work. So maybe you didn’t really want to die or else you would’ve chosen a more decisive method.
The internet is full of resources on how to successfully commit suicide. The dumb suicide preventionists can’t shut that up.
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I’m the same way. I’ve had incidents where I thought I was going to kill myself and changed my mind at the last minute, standing in bare feet in snow up to my calves, in shorts and a tank top, out in the wilderness, with the razor in my hand, but I have never actually attempted to kill myself. I tended to say I would only ever have one attempt, then one that ended my life.
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