I cut. It was a very nice day, me and the newer boyfriend had finished some... activities. We talked, as we always do- bringing up things in the day that troubled the other. He mentioned that I have been making some mistakes- I acknowledged them and promised not to do it again, simple. Soon enough he brought up the fact that I very strongly emotionally punish myself when I make a mistake. He added that one of his friends tends to blame- and I work with him. He would always blame me, and I would always blame myself, leaving this nice hole in my heart where a mistake rested. I stood, walked to the kitchen, found a dull blade, and did what I needed to. Sobbing as I came out to him as someone who cuts, someone who's afraid of blood who scrapes the skin until it stings. He returned it, as he admitted to cutting and suicidal actions as a younger boy. This is all fine and dandy... but I thought I was... done... with all of this.