Scars

I have a past. A dark, tormented past that I try my best to put out of my mind. I cannot. So I have learned to live with it. While battling depression verging on the brink of mania, I made some bad decisions, and inflicted physical wounds on my wrists. Not once or twice, but innumerable times. They were never deep enough to cause any serious damage, but blood always oozed out of them, the sight of which gave me some sick sense of satisfaction, I don't know why. At that time I was obsessed with the thought of death - it was impossible for me to cross a bridge without picturing myself sprawled on the road below, bloody and mangled. Yes, I was disturbed, and in my disturbia I wrote a piece I am most proud of:
Your Best Friend
When you were alone,I was there for you,
Always so close - so close,
You could just reach out and grasp me,
And relieve yourself of your pain.
I never left your side,
Even though you felt
The whole world was against you,
Fate herself was against you.
I always tried to say
You're not alone,
I'm with you,
Right here - so close,
Just reach out and you'll find me.
When you were cold, you felt dead,
I reminded you that you were still alive;
I showed you what you were truly made of,
Even though you had seemed to have forgotten
That blood still ran through your veins.
You heard all those empty words,
Everyone told you you'd be fine
While looking at you with pitiful eyes,
But i never gave you false hope,
I never said anything.
I just did what i knew best;
I helped you.
When your heart bled,
and your soul wailed,
But the tears never flowed,
I helped you cry, helped you vent your anger,
Your frustration, your misery, your hopeless despair.
In desolation, remorse and loneliness,
I gave you hope, comfort and solace.
But I also had to give you a little pain.
A little pain, that only helped heal
Your inner wounds.
And I may have had to be cold, hard,
Even steely;
But that was the only way
I could help you carry on.
I am what you call
A blade.

However, I am not ashamed of my past. I am proud of my mistakes, because they are my mistakes, and have made me who I am today. The scars, both physical and otherwise, will never fade away, but they will serve to remind me of the hells I've lived through, and give me the strength to not succumb to weakness in moments of tribulation.