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No more long sleeves. 

No more sweaters. 

You’re going to have to show yourself. 

How do you feel about that? 

I try not to wherever visible; these aren’t even that deep but it’s the principle of what I’m feeling. There are no words to describe. Irony.

nightimewalker:

I’m not even angry at anyone, myself i suppose. I don’t know i can just feel it there in my chest, like when you are nervous, except im not. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do. So i cut myself. Damn it felt like such a relief once i had made myself bleed. its just fucking twisted. 

hopedismembered:

I tried to think of a creative, attractive, fancy, artistic way of putting this, but my mind seems to be taking another thing I love away from me: my ability to write. So I sit here, at a loss for words, at a loss of the ability to form any appealing sentences or paragraphs of my feelings.

I’m at a loss for who I am.

bogantastic:

You understand what it is to be a cutter.

You understand that it’s not for attention.

You understand that it’s a release.

You understand that the aim isn’t death.

You understand that feeling pain is easier than feeling numb or broken.

You understand that emotions can choke you.

Reblog if you’re not:

disgusted, horrified or look down on cutters…

Reblog if you really, truly, understand.

holy shit, the notes.

Photos?

Stories?

Accomplishments?

Secrets?

Confessions?

Please share them.

You never know who you’re going to affect and help by submitting your very own story. Whether your story is through words, pictures, a drawing, whatever. Just submit it. 

I love each and every one of you. Remember that, please.

-Rochell. (:

“You know why I stopped cutting? I stopped cutting because everytime I looked at those damn scars, it reminded me of what happened to make me cut. The third one up on my left arm was from when my mom threw the bottle at me. Why would anyone want to fucking remember that?”