My weapon of choice became the blade, and my flesh became the battlefield, where I waged an internal war on the parts of me that couldn’t be healed. The battle began on the inner side of my fleshy thighs, until there wasn’t any room left to fight, and by that stage, the battlefield transferred to my stomach, and then to my breasts, until settling on my wrists. The temporary relief from mental torture led me to playing with knives while other girls my age played with dolls. I was clever to conceal, to cut just deep enough to find relief but not bring attention to myself. After all, it was
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Oh Lizzie...
