I’m sorry for what happened the other night, but the fact remains: I stopped cutting in November.
The road got bumpy and the cutting bandwagon didn’t have any seat-belts. I was emotionally vulnerable, and I know I shouldn’t have brought you into my house the other night. But I did. What happened happened.
I know I’ll sound like a jerk for saying this (until I remember that you’re an inanimate object and I’m only writing you a letter because I enjoy personification), but the other night meant nothing to me. That part of my life, the part of my life that involved you- it’s over. We can’t see each other anymore, and no, we can’t be friends. A clean break is best.
Every time I see the scars on my arm, I can hear the words that I used to pretend you said to me, “You’re a cutter. I’m a razor blade. We were meant to be together.”
But you’re wrong.
I’ve changed. I’m not a cutter. That part of me died 8 months ago.
I was meant for something better.
I have a life to live, and I can’t let you hold me back. I’m tired of letting you get under my skin. I’m sorry, razor blade, but this is goodbye.