ignoring the hot tears that can’t seem to stop streaming from my eyes, i clawed at my arm. “this is punishment,” i said to myself, “punishment for being who you are.” i wanted to draw blood, but to no avail, my nails are too dull to do that. i tried to pinch myself, twist the skin in a way that would distort it forever. “this is pain” i thought to myself. but it disappeared in seconds, the pain. hours later, the nail marks were gone leaving only long red designs on my arm. less than a day later, only tiny bruises remain. tomorrow, nothing.
i looked at the desk from my spot on the bed. scissors. more punishment. a layer of skin. another layer of skin. i’m cutting too slow, too shallowlly. how come i can’t draw my own blood? i’m useless. i’m a coward. i need to match my insides to my outsides and i can’t do it.
even this, i do half assedly.
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today’s lesson in strength: to be strong means to tell the truth, even when it’s painful.
