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The other night, he found scars, atleast the big ones.
The burn and the compass.
"What the hell is that?"
Not in contempt, in confusion.
Then it dawned on him with his simple mutterance of, 'shit, not another one.'
So his ex was a cutter, how was I supposed to know?
Oh and the one before that too, huh?
Damn, you really know how to pick em.'
"It was a long time ago. That isn't my life anymore."
He shakes his head and rolls over.
I shake my head.
"Why do it?"
I freeze.
Deer in the headlights sorta thing.
I dunno.
Do I launch into the story of how I stared into the mirror and called myself a worthless dog?
Cause to me, that's what I was...
Do I tell him I just wanted to feel something?
But then I'd have to explain that I didn't feel.
There were too many walls around my heart.
I rub the rough scars and wish the symbol for north was more prominent....once a cutter, always one.
"I needed direction in my life."
He takes that in and asks me again why I was into blades.
I remember what I worked out on a long run one day...
"Sometimes when the pain is so starts to drive you crazy, so you make the pain real and for a little while, it goes away."
He asks me why I don't anymore...
I shrug..."I faced my demons and worked through my pain."
He nods and looks down at the jagged lines that mar my leg...
"I found my direction."