9 years and not a scratch. It never goes away – the thought. It follows me everywhere. Perhaps not every day, but on the bad days. On the days where I don’t wish to speak or communicate, I reach for the blade. Holding it in my palm, I feel the scratch upon my skin. Never again. Do NOT. Holding it helps, feeling the blade without any actual harm. My brain is fighting against itself.
No. Do not.
For 9 years, I have managed. I have found strength I did not know I had.
One day at a time.