I've cut for many many years. I dont hide the scars. I dont flaunt the scars. They are just there. It's not like I forget they are there. They just are. Just like any other part of me. I went to pick up my son from kindergarten. I dont "fit" in with the other Mom's cuz of my mental health issues. It's hard to not go find a corner and wait til it's my son's turn to leave. I cant make idle chatter. I dont know anyone like they all seem to know one another. I want to, but I just cant. So it's like any other pick up. It's been wonderfully beautiful weather for this time of year. Still t-shirt weather, which I happen to be wearing. A mom comes up to me with this sickening smile glued on her face. She almost whispers when she says to me "could you please cover those somehow they make me uncomfortable. And I dont think the children should have to see that." I stood there, like a moron. I didnt know what to say. I didnt know what to do. I just stood there. I'm certain the rest of them thought I was being an asshole or defiant. I was numb. I dont want to go pick up my son tomorrow. But I have to. So thinking I'll just show up late. I have never ever let my scars affect me. But something has died. Something has eaten up all the brave and fight. I dont know what to do. And yes, I've cut after getting home. And I'll cut tomorrow. It's what I know.