Once upon a time, I used to cut. I'm not proud of it. I'm quite ashamed of it, but if you notice the scars on my wrist and arm, I don't notice you notice unless you say something. I have been judged before because of them. But that is only the surface of the bigger picture. I decided visible scars weren't cool anymore. I decided to cut my leg instead. And one day, while I was losing my mind, I cut this word into my thigh: BREATHE . It's very faint. I regretted it the instant I finished, as I do most of my cuts. Eventually, I want to cover these areas of my body with tattoos. I saw this one, and it is perfect. I still struggle with self harm urges every once in awhile, but I do not act on them anymore. Well, not often. Have I in the last 6 months? Yes. Unfortunately. But more and more I see the damage I am doing to myself, and I am starting to hate that I have to live with every single cut I made for the rest of my life. It's like seeing all my heartache, all my pain, all my deepest, darkest secrets right there on my body. I want it covered up. I need tattoo ideas. And then, of course, I need money and some courage to actually go get it done. ----- I woke up at 4 this morning. I'm running off of 4.5 hours of sleep. It is currently 5:40 in the morning. I am drinking my coffee and doing the normal internet stuff... Tumblr... Facebook... Blogger. I really like my mornings. I get to say goodbye to Ron and then I have alone time until the kid wakes up. Some days he sleeps until 9....