I can remember that time of sadness. That time when I hated almost everyone and felt as if they all hated me too. I look at my legs and shoulders seeing the scars. The scars of my time of depression and hatred. The time I now regret because of all the things I did. I drifted away from friends, I cursed the world for keeping me alive, and started telling myself no one cared for me.

That sad dark time when my best friend was the razor I kept hidden. The shiny silver that called to me when my emotions were too strong. When the only way I could let out my frustration, hatred, pain, and loneliness was by scarring my tanned skin. I still remember how that razor made me feel the physical pain. Physical pain to cover up my emotional pain.

I can remember how at night I'd curl up and cry myself to sleep. My emotions were a hurricane. My mental state of mind a leaf caught in the hurricane of confusion. I'd go to that razor for help. Seeing the red come from my skin made me smile. It seemed as if only the cuts, that would someday be scars, were the only thing that made me smile. Those and my one friend that was like me. I would listen to her problems to forget my own...

Back then I was foolish and irrational. I couldn't figure out what made me feel so strange. All I knew was the cutting made me feel better. The physical pain covered my inner pain. And since I used the razor to escape my inner pain to enter a world of my own, I am stuck with the scars that remind me of those days.. Those sad, dark, depressing days. When the cuts were fresh. And my emotions mixed up. When I didn't think about The Cuts becoming The Scars...