Stop cutting

I tend to go through stages of cutting and not cutting. Right now I’m not, but it’s plaguing me as much as ever—not the need to do it, but what I’ve been left with. I can’t even remember the last time I wore just a t-shirt. No one has seen my arms for months, and with summer coming soon I’m getting extremely worried. I love it as much as I hate it. I want to stop even though it feels like I’ll die if I stop. And I want to die as much as I’m afraid of disappearing forever. I know that in the end it’s only evading the real issues, which will never leave me until I face them.