I read "I've self harmed since I was 9 neat little rows to let the pain out" that sounds nice. Tears are nice but they don't help. Maybe this will. I sneak a knife into my room. The next day is Sunday. We are reading the Bible. My brother makes bacon. There's not a lot. My dad tells someone to make more bacon. My brother gets up. He grabs the bacon. I go back k my art. Daddy looks at me and starts to yell. "I told you to make bacon!" I look up. "Huh?!"
He yells at me.
More and more and more.
Then he slaps me.
"Make the bacon" he says.
I do. And when the oil pops on my wrist and arms I don't cry.
We finish reading.
I go to my room.
I pull out my knife. It's a small serrated knife with a wooded handle.
I my pants down.
I put the knife on my thigh.
I bite my lip and drag the knife. It hurts like hell. But underneath that one I do it again.
Slice slice slice.
I have 5 cute now.
All with small beads of blood in places.
I pull my pants up. Then I go to the bathroom and get toilet paper. I press the toilet paper against my thigh.
It hurts. But I like it.
I go back to my room.
Then I hide the knife and put on my pajamas. I rub my leg. Ouch ouch ouch. I like that.