fleshless, with my paperclip in hand, tracing a white line back and forth. I remember how I looked at my wrists and I couldn’t help but see my future. I wanted to hurt, I wanted to bleed. I knew my body was disgusting, shameful and totally unlovable, but somewhere in the very distant future, I dreamed that maybe I could be something more than just thin. I saw myself working and dancing and acting and performing – and I saw myself doing so with pale, unblemished wrists.
