It’s been more than twelve years since the first time I cut myself. Most days, I feel ashamed that I cut. I do what I can to hide scars and make them disappear, but I also try and remain open and honest about the struggles with mental health that prompted me to make them. That way, I am accountable for not making them again.

I don't take pride in scars, but there is a certain comfort in the visual reminder that the mental health issues that I have dealt with for so long aren’t just in my imagination. A cut is pain made visible. It's the idea that if you can point to where it hurts, maybe you can fix it. I am starting to believe that writing is much better than cutting; words are something I can point at, too.