Criss cross, red trails. Tiny streams trickling off the boundaries, creating their own separate paths. There is something beautiful about the unconventional movements. Something freeing about the sting and the metal sinking into what is supposed to be sacred.

            It’s funny how something that’s supposed to be cherished becomes a moving target, something that cannot be shed or avoided or dropped away. It’s scary how such a large part of your identity can turn against you when in the wrong hands. It’s sad how one of the best ways to deal with a pain that is felt on the inside is by showing it on the outside, on the delicate skin of your inner arms, on the tender flesh of your thighs.

            The words that are hurled at you, sink into your chest, deep, nestling its sharp blade tightly in your heart. The blood that comes seeping out becomes your own doing instead. Because the darkness of the bruising on the inside seeps up to your thoughts and clouds them in a nightmare gray and what comes out is scarlet red instead because you needed some color in your life. Even if it came at your own expense.

            There was something beautiful about taking control of your body, of being able to call the shots, when it seems like you have lost a little bit of who you are. Even if taking control meant self-harming, it was relieving to be able to make that choice. And the pain that came with each knife was only a reminder that you were still in your body, that for once, the pain was coming from you and not from someone else.

            It was addicting, the adrenaline rush that came with knowing the precise moment the blade would touch your skin, anticipating the biting sting, the sharp nick of the steel against a delicate barrier and then the rush of the blood as it escapes from its confines. Free, just like how you wanted to be. That type of freedom was something you could only dream of. Freedom from your thoughts. Freedom from the outside sources.

            It was an art. An art, that like so many others, required your body. Except instead of twists and bends, ink and images, this one was all natural. The catalyst for why you needed to do it and the relief that you get were all rooted in the mysterious workings of your neurons and that enigma called ‘emotion.’ It was an elegant solution to something that could become all-consuming. The art of hurting yourself, and liking it.

            “Okay, that’s enough.” A kind but firm voice cut across yours and you looked up to see your boyfriend frowning at you.

            Jongup took the diary from your hands and closed the book definitively. “No more of those memories. They are a part of you, but they’re also a part of who you were. Past tense. You’ve come such a long way since then.”

            What you hadn’t realized was that as you were reading your past thoughts out loud, tears had started to fall. What you were unable to see was your finger slowly tracing out the familiar path the blade had taken those years before. What you couldn’t see, what your subconscious was doing, all of that, Jongup saw. And each action cut him as deeply as you had done to yourself.

            He placed the diary on the table and inched closer to you. There was a fierce look in his eyes and you stared into them. You read love, and protection in them. You could see the unshed tears that he had from hearing about your pain.

            “Oh, Jongup.” You reached up and cupped his face. “All of that was before I met you. But I’m better now.”

            He was still breathing heavily and when he blinked, you caught the tears and wiped them away before they could fall further than the curve of his cheek. “I know. But hearing you and seeing you, just makes me wonder how much you were hurting then. You are so brave. I don’t think I would ever be able to hurt myself and walk away a better person.”

            You felt utterly comfortable as you thought back to those days. The clouds of depression had hit you hard and it was difficult to be able to even breathe at some days. Even though you had turned to self-harm, you also forced yourself to reach out. You had wanted to get better, and so you sought positivity. It wasn’t an easy journey but you had focused on one light, and chased it until the light expanded into the exit of your dark tunnel.

            “I don’t think I would call that brave, Uppie. If anything, it was more of a coward’s way out. I couldn’t confront my feelings and so had to physically find an outlet.”

            He hugged you close and placed his chin on top of your head as he ran his hands down your back. You closed your eyes and allowed his heartbeat to lull you into peace. “I think you were brave. And I think you’re so much more beautiful because of that.”

            You raised your head to smile at him. “It’s funny how back then all I heard were discouraging words but with you, I only hear good things. Sometimes I don’t even believe you.”

            Jongup placed a finger against your lips. “Shh, you know I only speak the truth. You are beautiful and you need to know that every single day.”

I want to thank everyone who is waiting patiently for me.

Life has really taken me and I'm so sorry. Each of you are so precious to me and I thank you again so sincerely for waiting.