This feels like the best place for this. Who says Let It All Out has to be all negative, right? The self harm forum seems a little... pushy? as this is really all for me. I just need to get it out there. Okay, history lesson for a moment: I started cutting when I was about 14. Which puts us about six years ago. Lots and lots of cutting for about three years, even though I tried to stop on a couple of occasions, to try and appease someone important. Then I sorta gave up on giving it up, and I slowed down. Stopped for longer and longer stretches just by not wanting to "that day". A few months, a cut or three, a few months, etc. I think the longest full stretch would be nine or ten months, right before I started college last year. Then the change and stress got me, and I did a few in the winter months. Spread out physically, I can almost tell you how many because they are the only ones on my leg. Then in the spring things slowly got to 'normal' as I adjusted. Summer went by, and here I am again. I cut for the first time since (probably) January on the 6 or 7th of November. Then the first time since then today. And here is what I have to say: I'm done. No more. I'm fucking sick of cutting. I never want to again. Because it feels good for a moment. About 9 seconds. Then I feel stupid. I want a tattoo on this shoulder eventually. A testament to quitting cutting. I have since I first tried to stop. But if I keep cutting, I'll never get it. The scars will never fade enough to do it. I feel worse after I cut than I do before. It makes me feel out of control. Because if I want to stop, why do I keep doing it? Because the scars "call" to get cut again. That internal itch. Well, I'm going to get some of that topical anaesthetic. Or that icey-hot gel I've used before. That fucking itch can get a new place. I'm SICK of cleaning up blood. I'm sick of wondering if a knife is clean. I'm sick of worrying all day if I will or not. If I have the knife to do it. I'm sick of it being on my mind, when there are such better things to be thinking about. Like getting a job, or making food, or that cute girl who just walked by. Anything really. I don't mind the scars. These are my birthmarks. But I don't need any new ones. My life crisis is over. I may not be entirely sure if I am suicidal, still; but I am in a good place. There is no reason to cut, so I am not going to. This shouldn't sound angry, because I am not. Which is kinda weird, but nice. I am determined. It is an odd feeling. But I like it. We'll see how it goes after I graduate in April, and move on to the real world, but I have a feeling it will all work out the same regardless of how much blood I spill. So I'm going to keep mine, best I can. So, I guess, wish me luck.