Copyright, Grace

I cut when my mother and I get into our yelling spats. I have this overwhelming urge to pick up something and to run it across my skin. To draw blood and control pain. I was molested by my brother. And my mother got him counceling. Not me. I was ignored everytime I asked. I wanted to talk to someone, but time and again I had a religous mantra thrown at me. Forgive him. Forget. What happens in this house, stays in this house. Talk to God, he’s the great councelor. I just got the nerve to ask my mother why she never got me counceling. She said it was because she was afraid he’d get arrested and anyway he got counceling and moved out. That was the first night I cut without a yelling match. Why am I the one to swallow this huge pill? What is there to learn? Why to I cut? Why do I feel like I deserve it for being a bad daughter? Why?


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