How is this me? I was safe always. Now I don’t have them, I only have terror, I am alone. My stomach cramped. I pressed a hot water bottle to my chest to calm the hammer blows to my heart, but they wouldn’t stop. I stabbed myself with a butter knife. I lashed at my arms and my thighs. I smashed my head on the sharp corner of the wooden headboard of the bed. I stubbed out cigarettes on my hands. I didn’t smoke, I only burned them into my skin. Again and again. My boys. I don’t have them to hold. What do I do with my arms? Soon, very soon, I have to kill myself. I was never left alone. An army
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