I looked down and saw what I had done. Blood was everywhere. My arm was a river and my blood the rapids. I tried to stop it but the blood just soaked into the bed and covered my other hand. What had I done? How could this have happened? How did I lose control? I had been clean for almost five years. I felt no pain...physically. I couldn't remember why I got so upset, but all I felt at that moment was hatred. I hated every fiber of my being, and didn't know if that would ever change. I feared myself for what I was capable of. I was crying, screaming. The cuts couldn't have been that deep, but there was so much blood.
I'll admit that for a moment I thought of you. I wished that you would have been there, so that you could get a glimpse of what you did to me. I'm afraid to sleep now because of you. The memories of what you did to me haunt my dreams and my daily thoughts. I am damaged now and I know its irreversible. I try to block it out of my memory, but I can't. Yet, you can walk through life happy and carefree. You deserve to die. I will never again believe that I am beautiful or lovable. You stole so much from me.
There was pounding on my door and I could hear my mother calling out my name. I tried to stop the blood from dripping onto the floor as I ran to the door sobbing. Still the blood ran to the floor, it stained the walls, and covered the door handle. My aunt was at the door, and she screamed my mother's name as she saw the blood covering my half naked body. Someone else called 9-1-1.
My mother. I threatened to destroy her from the inside out without even meaning to. She clung to me, pulling me to tightly to her, desperately praying to wake from this terrible nightmare which was an agonizing, and harsh reality. I apologized again and again and again. She was crying and I wished I could have taken back what I had just done. I hated myself even more for the pain I was causing her, and I knew she blamed herself. How could I make her realize that I loved her. I loved her with every fiber of my being. She meant the world to me. At that moment I wished that she knew that I strive so much to be like her. I would never in my dreams intend to "punish" her like this. No, she was my mother and I loved her with all of my heart. I began to realize that because of this mistake I was sending her spiraling back in to her depression where she would suffer for years.
My young cousins stood outside my room thinking that I had been stabbed. My Uncle searched for a way to help them understand that I had been the victim and the perpetrator. I had done this to myself single-handedly.
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