Healing Wounds

I use to cut myself and watch it bleed,
Borderline suicide that couldn't succeed.
The physical pain was better to feel,
Than the emotional emptiness I wish wasn't real.
I'd get lost in the sorrow and sadness I felt,
Not knowing how to cope with the pain I've been dealt.
I'd hide what I've done with shirts of long sleeve,
Saying "I'm fine" for peers to believe.
When caught on occasion I'd say "it was my cat",
Most people would tend to believe when told that.
But I owned no furry feline companion,
It was my knife I would cut with, emotions abandoned.
Then one day another noticed my deep scratches,
They said signs like those, their attention it catches.
Showing me theirs that were from their feline,
They said theirs were different and looked nothing like mine.
They then grabbed my hands and stared into my soul,
They knew, they could see that I had no control.
I soon broke down and told the secret I kept,
I spoke of my depression as I sat and I wept.
I learned on that day to speak up when I'm sad,
If not I would die by the pain that I had.
The scars have healed over after all of these years,
But secretly I still see them, my pain and my fears.