This blog will be a place for me to put all of my writings (short stories, poems, etc) in one place. This will be your only trigger warning. My works tend to include dark and possibly disturbing subjects to to the fact that I myself am a very disturbed person. I am not responsible if you read this and get upset.

Why I Don't Wear Shorts - A Short Story Inspired By Real Events

Ever since I was younger, I always felt like I didn't quite fit in as well as other kids my age. I was never one to easily make new friends, so I only had a few people I hung around. Looking back at it now, I don't think they actually liked me that much. We were always labelled as weird and that affected me a lot, I just wanted to fit in with all my other classmates, but I didn't want to lose my only friends.

I started using the internet with little to no restrictions at a very young age. That was a bad idea. I eventually found out that I had a big interest in art, especially digital art with art styles that were inspired by anime, which was one of my special interests at the time. I had always been a kid who liked to draw, I was very creative and I loved to talk to my friends about drawing. There was... This artist that I had found due to the large amount of drama going on because of their past and current actions. Instead of disliking this artist like most people, I decided to like that artist even more. Even though everyone was saying that they did these bad things and had proof. I still ignored them. I don't know why, but I've always been attracted to controversial and manipulative people who are labelled as "bad people". It comforted me knowing that those people also, were outcasts like me.

The artists art resembled them. They had this one character that was supposed to be a version of themselves. The character and the artist both had self harm scars. I found them very interesting and decided to dive deeper into the world of self harm. Especially on Twitter. I was able to find a community of people who self harmed and I was absolutely fascinated. I wanted to be like them.

Once I started I could never go back.

It became a routine at that point. Wake up, go to school, get home, cut, sleep. Wake up, go to school, get home, cut, sleep. Wake up, go to school, get home, cut, sleep. This was what all of my days were like. I thought that I would never be caught because I still kept up the act of being mentally okay. My actions were never out of line. My moods never changed. I was almost emotionless, so of course no one noticed.

But then summer arrived. My mother had wanted me to wear very short shorts so we could go outside and I kept refusing until she eventually pressured me to tell her why. She had found out I cut myself and then forbid me to wear anything that showed my cuts. Because to her, the fact that I had cut myself made her look like a bad parent. She was worried about her own reputation. Instead of worrying about my mental health. Even though I did not want to get better and had no plans to stop, I still would've liked for her to at least attempt to take me to therapy, to  maybe show that she actually gave a shit about my mental health.

But she never did.

She never tried to help. She only made things worse. I didn't even feel bad about my scars, they actually made me feel more confident about myself. But she told me that I had ruined my body. That they would never go away. "How can you become a model now? You can just give up your dream of modelling, there's a reason that you never see models with scars, especially ones made my themselves." Why would you say that to a child?

Your own fucking child? I was eleven years old. Eleven. Fucking. Years. Old.

I cannot wear shorts that show the upper part of my thighs anymore, just because she says so. No matter how hot or uncomfortable I get, at the end of the day she only cares about her own image.