No one can see that I am a cutter
I am trying to stop. I seek help, I treat my skin and I love the way I look when I can mask it. But the new semester is starting. I am still their mother and the bills are still due. So stress makes this worst. Me. Still, lust after me and try to smile but beneath I am a ball of nerves. So I cut. My face is the first place I go because I feel I am not worthy of beauty. Then I say I must heal myself, so I pour alcohol on cotton balls and pat the open wounds. I scream out in pain, not sure if they can hear me. But without makeup, my children see the true me. The raw me, ill me. And when I stop for a period of time my skin shines and looks so young and soft. But life as to be going well. The kid's lives must be going well, a school for me is going well, my love life is in and popping. And the bills are paid. So the clear skin does not last for long.