One pathetic time in my life I used to cut myself. Not deep. I never wanted to die. Just shallow, thin lines so I could watch the blood run down my arms, like it was searching for something. Like I was searching for something.
(I didn't eat and cut myself with razorblades, wonder why I had such a hard time making friends.)
I never got why some people would'nt let me do what I wanted with my own body though. It was mine. It was me who I did it to. Why were they so involved?
Mom was by my side the whole time. She washed my cuts clean and bought me lemons. For several weeks lemons were the only thing I ate. They made my stomache hurt like hell but I told myself that that was good. That it was the vitamins taking care of my body, killing all the bad stuff I had in me.
Mom never said a hard word to me. She never judged me or told me that I was stupid making my arms look like a wall in a cell in a old prison movie. She never forced me to eat. She never asked me why I just could'nt.