I want to cut so bad. I can feel where the blade wants to dance. but I won't. my blade to me is like liquor to an alcoholic; a drug to a junkie. I'm like them. but I am sober. the temptation is there. always. there. but I will love and respect myself and keep my blade at bay. I have to learn to deal with that addiction. and I have for the most part. it's hard. it's my drug. I love and respect myself. my body has done nothing to hurt me so why should I hurt it? and my therapy has been to write this. there. all better.
my life, my world changed on what was supposed to be an ordinary monday. i will never forget that hot and steamy august monday.
i awoke to see my dad on the red phone that was in the hall, for neither bedroom had doors. when i looked at him, he looked back at me with a worried look on his face. i didn't care, so i turned over and went back to sleep. i awoke again to my dad dressing me. after i was dressed and ready to go, he scooped me up into his arms. as we walked out of the bedroom, i reached back, "my dolls", i whined. i was supposed to take a bag full of barbie dolls to summer day care that day. he mumbled, "it's okay, we'll get them later."
he opened the cold grey metal door, and unlashed the brown storm door. i thought it strange that my mom's grey toyota was still there. but what i found to be even stranger was that we passed up my dad's joy bus, a white vw van. when we reached a cluster of 4 or 5 brown garbage cans, my aunt was there w…