I forgot how painful it was when my cuts rub against clothing. 

Although, in a way, I'm glad it's painful. All day, it's a reminder that I'm alive and can feel. 

I told one person that I know at school that I cut, and that was while we were exchanging depressing stories.

I have a lot of friends that are either have depression or anxiety. We're a really messed up group of people. 

I want to tell people. I want them to hug me and comfort me and tell me that everything's gonna be okay, but I'm scared that they'll tell my parents, and I don't want them to know that I'm so messed up. 

I mean, my parents know that I've got depression and that I used to cut in January and February. They've got no clue that I cut again in June and July. 

I just want someone to hold me while I fall apart and then try to piece me back together. I need a hug so badly, but I don't know who to ask without them asking if I'm okay. 

I mean, there are people that I want to tell. Heck, I want to tell them so badly, but I don't want them to think of me differently. I'm scared that they'll pity me and think I'm weak and try to list every reason why I shouldn't, which will just make the reasons why I should even more relevant. 

I don't know what I'm going to do.