I’m 14 about to be 15. I have depression I have struggled with and and for some reason, I decided to give myself a tattoo on my hip where my underwear would typically hide it. It was a semicolon (;) done with a sewing needle and India ink. If you don’t know the story begin it, it’s the whole ‘I chose not to end my life, etc.’ thing.
Now, months have passed, and it’s healed up quite nicely, but it looks more like : than ;. So I’m wearing a bathing suit and my aunt that has survived breast cancer sees it and understandably, she freaks out. I immediately think I’m fucked. I convince her it’s something I’ve never noticed — which in hindsight, was definitely not the smartest move. So I go upstairs in a bathroom with a few cubes of ice and cut it out with scissors. One of the dumbest things I’ve ever done, it wouldn’t stop bleeding for HOURS, hurt like a mother.
Flash forward a good few months, she runs into my mom and while chatting with her she remembers and tells her. My mom knows I’ve struggled with depression and she asks about it in front of everyone. A lightbulb goes off in my head. I tell her it was a remnant from my days of self harm and I used pencils and pens to draw blood in the same spot hence the dark coloration. She buys it. At the moment it is almost completely invisible spare a few marks.
Moral of the story: DON’T GIVE YOURSELF A GODDAMN STICK AND POKE.
