Recently I have gotten blotches on my arms. It has been driving me nuts. At work the other day, I was looking at the blotches and noticed two faint scars: one on top of my right arm, one on top of my left. These were left from cutting years ago. It struck me how close to my wrists these cuts really were. What kept me from turning my hands over and cutting my wrists? Why did I want to bleed but not to death? Does it matter? Isn't cutting bad no matter where it is?
I tried to think back on when those incidents took place. When I was younger I could look at the scars and remember the cutting incidents in chronological order, when it was, where I was, and what prompted me to do it. Now it seems so long ago, I really can't remember. And that is a good thing. Time really does heal some wounds, not just the ones on the outside.
Peace,
~b~
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