I remember it all.
Things I remember:
The kid's taunts on the playground.
The doctor telling me to lose weight at age nine.
Going to my mother for help and her neglect.
Switching schools.
Running away from my problems.
Crying for the people who never gave a damn about me.
First time I self-harmed.
The flower pot I hid my blade in for months.
Taking knives from the kitchen but none would leave a deep enough mark.
The noose that was hidden in my room.
Taking the blade out of a pencil sharpener.
The day in gym class when my teacher commented on me wearing long sleeves and long pants in 80-degree weather and me never rolling up my sleeves to play outside.
My friends begging me to eat something.
Saying I think my mom hates me in front of a teacher.
Wanting to run away.
My siblings hating me.
Crying alone in my room while my family ate dinner.
Shutting down in the middle of class.
Wearing long sleeves shirts every day.
The time I put a blanket on my arm to hide the scars while talking to my brother.
Wanting to wear my favorite shirt but having to wear a second shirt under it to hide my scars and getting teased for it.
Not being able to look in the mirror.
Being under 100 pounds and feeling proud.
Wanting to die.
Almost dying.
Things I don't want to remember:
Everything.
These memories never cease to surprise me. They have no rhythm. They come in the middle of class. At night when I'm trying to rest. In the middle of therapy. When I'm talking to friends or family. In my dreams. When I'm presenting a project to a room full of people. In the middle of writing. On holidays. I will never be able to pinpoint every memory in words. I just want them to go away.
They never do.
The kid's taunts on the playground.
The doctor telling me to lose weight at age nine.
Going to my mother for help and her neglect.
Switching schools.
Running away from my problems.
Crying for the people who never gave a damn about me.
First time I self-harmed.
The flower pot I hid my blade in for months.
Taking knives from the kitchen but none would leave a deep enough mark.
The noose that was hidden in my room.
Taking the blade out of a pencil sharpener.
The day in gym class when my teacher commented on me wearing long sleeves and long pants in 80-degree weather and me never rolling up my sleeves to play outside.
My friends begging me to eat something.
Saying I think my mom hates me in front of a teacher.
Wanting to run away.
My siblings hating me.
Crying alone in my room while my family ate dinner.
Shutting down in the middle of class.
Wearing long sleeves shirts every day.
The time I put a blanket on my arm to hide the scars while talking to my brother.
Wanting to wear my favorite shirt but having to wear a second shirt under it to hide my scars and getting teased for it.
Not being able to look in the mirror.
Being under 100 pounds and feeling proud.
Wanting to die.
Almost dying.
Things I don't want to remember:
Everything.
These memories never cease to surprise me. They have no rhythm. They come in the middle of class. At night when I'm trying to rest. In the middle of therapy. When I'm talking to friends or family. In my dreams. When I'm presenting a project to a room full of people. In the middle of writing. On holidays. I will never be able to pinpoint every memory in words. I just want them to go away.
They never do.
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