I still have a really noticeable scar

Remember when I sliced my wrist with a bread knife? The scar has gotten a lot better, or it's better today. Sometimes it's really dark purple and my skin is really white. Part of me thought that maybe it would be better than it is. Then again, I apparently have no concept of time when I look back. Sometimes, I think it happened a month ago, weeks ago, years ago. Sometimes, when I look at the scar the panic comes back, the memory still raw. It doesn't happen as much now. I can remember how it was ripped wide open. It was terrifying, but I haven't felt anything so...freeing since. Yes, I felt panicked and scared, but they were only vague after a while. After a while, they drifted on my peripheral. After a while, I didn't feel anything strongly. Don't worry, I'm not going to do it again. Having that fresh panic hit me, randomly, when I'm writing, getting a drink, hugging my girlfriend, doing normal human actions is no fun.
I haven't lost any weight. I'm so confused. I can't eat much because I feel sickly after.  Physically, I'm feeling. The light-headedness that I missed, vision going black and then coming back... Being chilled worse than everyone else. The way coffee made me feel after not eating for a long time. I don't think I realized how much I really missed this. All of it. Anyway, I haven't lost weight. I stand on the scale, shift my weight to see if that'll lower it. It doesn't change. 165. Shift, shift, shift. 165. don't eat for hours. 165. Try to ignore it all. Go to bed. Get online. Use the excuse that I don't feel well to not eat. Have too much coffee. Suddenly too bubbley. Crash. Weigh. 165. Want to scream. Listen to music. Try to write about something other than suicide (no, I'm not suicidal.). Pace room. Worry that J.P.'s not gonna come back. Run downstairs. Weigh. 165.
Ok, I really don't weigh myself too much. I know it's gonna say the same thing. I know that it's not going to change. Sometimes, after I go to the bathroom, I'll see. It's really always the same. It makes me feel so broken when I almost cry over the unchanging number. I almost threw a fit one day when no one was home. I almost punched the island in our kitchen. I almost screamed. I pulled at my hair.
I have tiny wrists. They're getting bigger, though. I can't easily touch my index finger and thumb together when I wrap them around my wrist. That was my biggest satisfaction when I lost weight. I'm such a blob.
I'm gonna go to bed before I call myself anything worse.