I think it started back when I entered High School, and I would spend entire nights just staring at my arms, wishing there was some sort of magical lotion or bandage that could erase all these obviously self-inflicted cuts. I would be so ashamed, I would write myself an angry letter, boldly declaring I would never cut again!
Of course, that isn’t how things went.
I cut again.
And I let the shame build up, balanced on top of all my broken promises to myself. So, when somebody else promises me that they will change, that they won’t hurt me again, I believe them.
I have to believe them.
If I can’t believe that bad people can change for the better, I have no more excuses for why I’m still here…