NOT MINE...
You think hiding the scars would be hard when you're always in the spotlight but, in actuality it's not. The first time I cut myself was the first time Deacon went into rehab and I couldn't take the feeling I was feeling so picked up a razor and brought it across my wrist. When he got out I stopped cutting and I didn't think about doing it again until he went in for the second time. I soon realized how addicting it was, you never feel the pain of the cut at first because of the adrenaline running through your system but that wears you feel the sting and the burn the razor leaves behind and for a second you are grateful to be able to feel anything. Some days when I would yell at Deacon because of his addiction I couldn't help but feel like a hypocrite because I was battling and failing at my addiction too. When I finally broke up with Deacon for good that's when the cutting got really bad I couldn't stop anymore and I didn't want to, it was the only time I was able to feel something and it was a punishment for leaving Deacon. When Teddy entered my life I thought that maybe he could cure me from my growing addiction and for about a month he did but one day we got into a big fight and I slipped. I went into my bathroom and locked the door the next thing I knew I had blood dripping from my wrist onto my bathroom floor leaving stains that I was hoping I could get out later. But at that moment all I could focus on was the relief the razor had created and for a split second fear crept inside knowing I was hooked again and this time I wasn't sure I could stop because I just felt dead inside and the pain created from the cut helped with that feeling. I guess I should have seen it coming that my life would end by a slip of a wrist it was actually inevitable because no one knew about my addiction so no one was there to help me overcome it. I finished with my concert and I had fans screaming and clapping for me in adoration but it didn't bring any gratitude I haven't felt that in a long time. I walked off stage, locked myself into my dressing room, picked up a razor and, slid it across my wrist. This time instead of the usual pain I felt it was freedom because I wasn't trapped in this bleak world anymore. I could have laughed at the irony that Deacon wasn't the one who ended up killing himself because of his addiction it was me who died because of my addiction