We’re all in the same game ..just different levels. Dealing with hell, just different devils..

It feels so weird to be on the other side of the table..you know? To see the same pain you went through on someone else. To see scars so visible on someone else. They were fresh and new. I saw them, cringed and looked at my wrist. I felt my heart beat faster. I’m not sure what it was.. but it scared me. It scared me knowing that just a tiny razor could take control and leave you lifeless. I have not cut in a long time, but when I did.. I remember me not feeling alive. Like I was just a tiny grain of sand in this huge world. I felt numb all through out the day. I remember when people would try to have a conversation with me.. I would kind of just tune out. Not really listen.. not say a word. Nothing felt real to me.. and the only thing that would cure it was the pain I felt with each slit. Anyway.. seeing the scars really scared me. I don’t ever want to start cutting again. 

“Home wasn’t a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together. Not a place, but a moment, and then another, building on each other like bricks to create a solid shelter that you take with you for your entire life, wherever you may go.”