I am not sad enough to be depressed, but I am not happy enough to be okay.
I self-harm by cutting and “occasional” bruising. I’ve been cutting some time between in May-June of 2011 and the only control I have is never bringing my blades to my wrists, and never carving words. I have enough of the latter in my head.
I was never a fat kid, but never one of those stick-thin prepubescent children. Since I was five years old I would look at my legs, spread out while sitting down, and dig my fingernail into my skin to trace the size that I wanted them to be. I’ve always zoomed in on my body. I’ve always felt the need to be smaller.
Anything else you want to know, you can ask.