I'm going to see The Passion today with Res. Res and I have been spending more time together lately. It's been nice to have a friend in class. It takes so long for me to get close to people but when it happens, it feels wonderful.

This is the second time in a short time that I am going to mention this one topic and I hate bringing it up. I just hate it. The scars on my arms...

I was wearing a favorite shirt of mine; it exposes my arms, but I love it anyway. I never hide the scars because I tell people my cats clawed me years ago while giving them a flea bath. Thus, why should I hide them or be embarrassed by cat scratch scars? That may not be what they are, but so few people know that, I can almost change my whole history.

But... this guy in my class who always wears a baseball cap, who I may add is very touchy feely with the girls, was rubbing my back and asking if I was coming to class. I said I would be leaving shortly and he started playing with the sleeve-end of my shirt. I suddenly noticed what he would be looking at.

A chill ran up my spine. I saw the look on his face and in his eyes and I knew he knew. I started telling him that I bathed my cats and they were rough with me and so on but I felt like I was talking to a wall. He just smiled and nodded and left the room.

I felt so exposed. There are some people who can tell the difference, who just know these things, have seen them maybe. They can't be fooled. Baseball Cap is one of those people. At least, he seems to be.

I feel embarrassed... it was such a stupid thing to do. It is the worst way to deal with problems and I know initially it was a cry for help. My mom had cancer and there were so many problems with a certain friend and I really felt left out in the cold. I needed someone to help me through my mom's illness and my friend's violent issue - which I was becoming more and more drawn in to.

I didn't know how or who to ask so I began cutting, hoping someone would see and finally help me. I couldn't admit to myself that was the reason, but it was. It simply was.

Until I began doing it to relieve stress. The first time I did it to make myself feel better was the first day I truly became a self injurer and it was a bad day. I suddenly understood, but was no where near ready to stop. Not when I just discovered how it helped me deal with my feelings.

And it continued. It went on a year after that. Some scars faded, others didn't. The last ones on my arm were so deep... They aren't going to heal. Those are the ones people see first.

Brent helped me stop. Just by being there, he helped me stop. I decided that if I was going to be with him, I couldn't hurt him by hurting myself. It was hard at first but the first time he let me cry on his shoulder, I knew it was over. Finally. Release.

I'm different now. I take so much better care of myself. I would never go back and do it again and if I could take back the cuts I would. But I can't and now people see them and ask questions and I have to lie.

I'm tired of lying but I'll be damned if people find this out about me and see me differently. I'm no longer someone who whimpers about her feelings and hides and waits for someone to notice. I take charge of my own life now. I don't want to be reminded of a time I didn't.

But that is what you get for being a dumb ass in the first place. It's one good reason no one should ever try out such a stupid habit. You either come across as a stupid whiny idiot, or it escalates into something else and you wind up having a skeleton in your closet that you wear on your shoulder.

You can lie, of course, but you can't be sure you will be believed.

It just wasn't worth it.

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