Hiding scars it's hard when it's hot outside.

Have you ever been in situation when you suddenly realize that you just screwed yourself? And there's not a thing you can do about it, because it's already too late? Ever felt that adrenaline rush caused by the fear that some people find exciting? The special fear that involves your whole body; brain, nerves, lungs, heart and muscles are all in total sync, have the same goal. To protect you. In those moments, your brain automatically goes into high gear, whether it's verbally or physically. It's the instinct of survival and no matter how much you might want to; you just can't fight it. If you stumble and are about to do a face plant on the pavement, your arms will stretch out to save you. If you're getting a real bad scolding, you either show submission to soothe it or you talk back, depending on who's scolding you. And if you're free falling, your brain searches for something – anything – to cling onto.

I bet you've only found yourself in that situation when you fell down from a tree, crashed with your bike or something as simple as that. And I know that you're probably laughing at those accidents, at your clumsiness now.

I don't.

Hiding scars is hard, especially when it's hot outside and you're wearing  long-sleeved shirts, your mom would ask what's up with that and you'd say you're cold, which is clearly unbelievable, but she'll just nod it off and the adrenaline rush will still be beating up and down your veins but not that hard anymore, you knew that there was a small chance to get found out. 

After a few years of hiding scars you think that no one can find out now, so you lower your guard abd shrug the long-sleeved shirts off, thinking they aren't needed anymore because no one has ever found out.

Wrong.

They will find out if you're not cautious and that was my fall. My brother found out and told my mom one day this year when I came back to school and I had done sixteen new cuts on to my left arm. My mom freaked out, but I told her this was my first time doing it, that I had unconsciously done it. I promised that it would never happen again. Wrong. Again.

On May 12, someone took my cat, she hasn't come back since then, I would get into something more detailed but this is another chapter in the book of my life. That day, well, on Monday 14, around 3am I cut again. Deeper this time. And had an anxiety break, wrote all over my walls, confesed my deepest secrets on them. Things my family had never known, and when they read them, I felt the adrenaline when you're about to fall, and you try to hold on to something, I didn't want them to read but at the same time, I wanted them to read, I wanted them to know how my cat had saved my life when no one else hadn't. I wanted to know why she was so important to me, why I wanted to kill and tear appart the man whose dog attacked my cat just a week before she disappeared. 

The thing is, I didn't get find out. I haven't gotten found out since, and I try to keep it that way.

Sincerely, 

the child who survived.

World of lies.

Dear reader,


Have you ever been so good at lying that you don't even bat an eye when you do, that you told the same lies so much times that you start to believe them yourself? You can't feel it, the guilt, because in a way you've started to believe them too and it starts becoming part of your reality even if you know that it's bad and wicked and horrible.


I bet you've only been there when someone asked what happened to your dad, why wasn't he around anymore, you probably said that it was because your parents divorced, when in reality he left you and your mother alone, or when someone asked you why didn't you eat tomatoes, you said it was because you were allergic, when in reality you just didn't like them. And I know that you felt guilty for saying those things, and after a while  you regreted doing it in the first place and confessed that you had lied.


I don't.




Being good at lying probably isn't good, but it helps when you don't want your family to know how bad you are. How much you've fallen... that you aren't as straight as they come, that there are scars all over your arms and thighs, and that your mind is the only thing that hasn't broken... 
I have been there plenty of times, lying about the scars of my arms and hands, and about that I was single, when I clearly had someone, but wouldn't say because I was too afraid to see the reaction of my parents when I told them that that someone was of my same sex. But the worst of these lies, is that after some time you start to believe them yourself... 


Like that one time they asked you how you got that cut on the palm of your hand, you said it was caused because you accidentaly grabbed too hard on the blade of the knive in Cooking Class when in reality you had had a panic attack and you had grabbed your emergency razor and cut through your skin sighing in bliss at the feeling that you were still alive. They believed you without doubt... and so did your friends and your siblings. And slowly slithering past you, without you noticing, the lie started crawling up from your tongue to your brain... deceiving you with beautiful, soft, whispering lies that became your truth... Making a world from lies and deceit... a world were you can't escape from. 


Sincerly,
the child who survived.

Fallen

Dear reader,


I used to like helping others but I don't anymore, or at least, not as much as I did before. Because for being nice and kind, caring and loving... when you do a mistake... it's like you are the worst person on Earth... people start thinking you're not who they thought you were, and you think they are right, that you, indeed are, the worst person that has ever existed... always deceiving without remorse. 


Have you ever felt that? 


You've probably only felt that when you told a secret you weren't supposed to tell or that one time you cheated on your boyfriend/girlfriend. You probably think now that because you are human making mistakes so that you can learn from them is in your nature, that as long as you are sorry everything will be alright and can go back to how it was before and you probably say that it was for the best, that you learnt from those mistakes.


I don't.


That's why I stopped being nice, and thought of myself as a bad person, because it's easier, so when you aren't mean, when you don't make mistakes you are over people's expectations and they think highly of you, not like before... never like before, but they think that maybe, just maybe you aren't that lost. 


Sincerely,
the child who survived.

I'm not a nice person

Dear reader,




I'm not a nice person.


I realized that in the past two years. 


When you first meet me I'm really kind and nice, a very good person, but then, when we become friends... I don't feel the need to be nice anymore, I become mean and cold, I don't betray you, or start treating you like shit but I stop caring... well, not that I ever did, the difference is that I make it obvious. I can't care about anything or anyone... it's as if I were disconnected from my body, just waiting to die or for someone to come and save me from this endless pit I'm falling into. 




Sincerly,
the child who survived.

Introduction

Dear Reader,

This blog is going to be about different experiences that have happened to me throughout my life. These are gonna be my very thoughts, straight out of the raw, untouched thing that is my mind, you might not like what you read here so read under your own risk.

Sincerely,
the child who survived.