bon d'accord... je n'ai pas de chance
by Sera

No, it's no use.. Iíve tried counting how many scars I have on my right forearm but to no avail. Thereís about 11 I can count now. However, I know there's more.. Most are overlapping each other so it's just a blur. They are mostly straight thin lines. They appear red, deep pinkish on my very pale forearm.

How they came about?

It started at the end of the summer of 2001. I was in love. With the wrong person, at the wrong time, in the wrong place. He knew this, and to push me away he was flirting with another woman. This had the most absurd affect on me.. I stood there watching him and all his movements for perhaps 5 minutes perhaps longer. I was expecting him to do what he was doing. I was so shocked and disgusted I ran into the bathroom and vomited my dinner. I don't know what I was feeling.. There isn't a word for that feeling, I can't describe it. I was shaking with anger and shock. Back then I had this little pendant my uncle gave me. It was silver with a purple stone in the middle and triangular in shape. I remember scratching my right forearm violently while pacing around the bathroom like an enraged panther in a cage. Do you know that feeling when you just want to destroy? It builds up inside you and explodes? Thatís what made me take of the pendant and use it to cut myself.

It was such a relief, like breathing after being trapped at the bottom of a swimming pool. I didn't feel any pain.

Since then, it's become usual practice. Whenever someone hurts me it's the first thing I turn too. It takes a lot to hurt me. I lost that pendant. I use whatever I can find. Scissors, nails, broken glass.

The last time I cut myself was 3 months ago. It was by far the deepest and has resulted in the most evident scars. I did it with an artist knife. I came home after arguing

Can we just skip the event that led me to do what I did?

I came home full of the same emotion I wrote about in the previous paragraphs. It was more intense this time though. I just got hold of the knife in my left hand and slashed away. Down, not across. It was quite deep. I collapsed on to the floor. Crying out of anger and banging my fists on the floor, asking the walls "why?" I can't remember how long I was like that for... Anyhow, when I got up and saw blood print of my hand - blood was dripping down my arm like a melting red candle. It was hypnotic. I sat down and watched the blood. I photographed it then cleaned everything up and put on a record: Cyndi Lauper - She's So Unusual and smiled. It felt good.

I can't show people when they hurt me. I feel guilty. I feel it's my fault. I feel the need to take it out on myself. Iím proud of these scars. They are beautiful. They are a result of pure emotion. They show how deeply I feel. They are mine and they are there.

It's funny, to see how everyone is blind to them. My parents, my bestfriends, my teachers, my bus driver. No matter what I'm wearing, short or long sleeved.. I sometimes wonder if I imagine them.

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