Last April after I found out my ex had lied to me and some other upsetting things, I had a complete breakdown. The breakdown ended after I took a brand new razor blade across my wrist. I had so much adrenaline. I didn’t feel it at all. But the giant wound and blood projecting from myself shocked me. I stared at it for a second. I think I tried to hold it closed and my ex said something about to not touch it. He pulled me into his bathroom and wrapped a towel around my arm and tied it. I’m still shocked. I think I’m crying and looking at him and telling him I’m going to die. I keep apologizing. He says that I’m not going to die. He says “it’s not like I didn’t know something like this could happen.” We didn’t know what to do so he asks if he could call his mom and I said ok. “Mom.. she slit her wrist and she’s bleeding a lot, what should we do” she asks a few questions, he ends up taking me to the ER on campus. I’m asked all the questions about what happened, my mental health.. so on.. We’re in the ER from around noon to 10 pm. He stays with me the whole time. He apologizes, I apologize. I changed into a hospital gown but my foot is still covered in blood and I’m wearing his sandals. I get seven stitches on my wrist after six hours of waiting by a student. He takes pictures of my open wound. He takes a video as they stitch. He takes a picture after the stitches are done. They want me to stay overnight for something. I have multiple people trying to convince me. I decline. We go back to his house. I realize in the car on the way home my shirt is covered in blood. There’s blood soaked into my black leggings. We get pizza at some point because bad hospital food didn’t work for either of us. He tries to sew up a pair of underwear I had cut up while I sit on the floor with a cloth and paper towels and peroxide trying to get my blood out of the carpet that’s been soaking for 11 hours. I got a speck of blood on the corner of his new white pillow. I tried so hard to get it out. I scrubbed the blood out of my clothes and carpet and the cloth he wrapped around my arm. We get sexual at some point. He takes me to Kroger to buy extra bandages at some point. Two weeks later I go back to the ER and get my stitches removed, and walk back to his house after. He’s having a little get together. I get a green v neck shirt out of my bag and tell him to put it on. He does. He walks in the other room and his friend comments on how he looks like Shaggy. It’s a nice moment. My wrist is still red and gross and shining from the ointment the nurse at the hospital put on it. We all get high and watch anime. He holds my hand and all I can see is the wound. All I can ever see is the wound. The student did a bad job. My skin is uneven and risen now. Things don’t get better. He leaves a few months later. I couldn’t leave because I loved him, despite him breaking me down to suicide. But he leaves. And I see this long, red scar on my wrist every day. I get taken back to his apartment in April every day. I remember the blood so vividly. I remember all of the feelings. I still have the pictures he took. I feel disgusting. I always feel disgusting. This scar will be on me as long as I live. I have a billion little white scars all over me but this one is the worst. It’s so ugly. If I don’t wear long sleeves everyone’s first look at me is that I’m a fucking psycho. I’ve stared at my scar in loneliness for six months. If I outstretch my arm I feel the pressure on my scar. I feel it inside. It always feels bad.