I don't write enough in this blog. I wish it was a positive sign that I'm on the mend or not in need of writing here, but it's not. I'm just bottling it all up, like I always do.

Since the last time I wrote in here... things have changed. Or rather, changes have taken place in my  life. I should really, feel a lot happier, be in a more secure place. And when I'm with him... the contentment I feel is genuine. I like him. I like him a lot (heck, I wake up every day and just feel more and more affection for him). And I want nothing more than to be whatever version of me he was attracted to in the first place. I want to let him in so badly.

I don't ever want to have to lie to him about or hide, aspects of myself from him. He deserves to have the best me that I can be. And it's hard to tell who that person is at the moment, but I know that this... thing... doesn't factor into the equation. And until I can get that under control...

It's an open secret that I cut. Let's face it, the scars are far too regular and evenly spaced to have been caused by random accidents, and the fact that they don't seem to heal, is a dead giveaway that something's off. But that's as far as I feel like I can let him in. I can't tell him why I cut and I can't tell him when I do it. It's my coping method. I'm okay as long as I have that. He shouldn't have to deal with me when I'm at my lowest. He shouldn't have to see me like this. He doesn't deserve to be treated like some sort of dumping site for my problems. He shouldn't have to be put in that position.

I hit a whole new low today. Exerted more pressure. The lines are deep red, and bold and beads of blood are forming and forging trails down my arm. And they hurt in that warm, stinging way.

Let's not tell anyone.