There was blood all over my sheets the other day.
Mum saw and she thought it was because I got my period, she thought it was an accident.
I didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.
The real reason?
I tried to cut myself open from the inside out.
Not with razors, I'm no stereotypical 'emo' kid.
I used a knife.
I'm still afraid that one day I'll go too far, cut too deep. What'll happen then? I don't think I particularly want to die, I'm not suicidal. I hold onto the hope that everything will get better someday, the suffering will end. Otherwise, what reason have I got to stay?
And why, you may ask?
I was thinking about everything. About repression, about his hands on me, about abuse.
It wasn't even really that though.
It was really the fact that I saw myself in the mirror for the first time since god knows when. Really saw myself. Saw how fat I've gotten, how truly ugly I am. I couldn't stand it. I can't pass for 45 kilos anymore. I really can't.
I hate that I forgot they were there, I was walking around without a shirt on like I do when I'm home alone, and my parents saw. My stepdad thinks I did it for attention. He doesn't understand. Nobody does, not unless they've done it. If I wanted attention, do you think it would be on my stomach, which I don't show anybody? Nobody sees my stomach.
They're not angry. They're not mad. They're 'disappointed'
Another parent trick, as Matt said. They know it makes me feel worse than I would if they said they were mad. I wish I could go back.