no one could believe i drove myself there. what they didn't know about were the tears i wiped away first.

sometimes we cut too quickly and too deep.

sometimes we see the curdled yellow fatty layer beneath the skin. before the panic there is fascination. revulsion.

sometimes the blood pressure cuff is too big to fit around our arms. smile at this. hide it. round up the weight when they ask.

sometimes the doctors at the ER believe our lies. dropped a knife. what an idiot, right?

what an idiot. six stitches later and there is still blood on the bathroom floor, smeared across the toilet seat.

sometimes i forget how dangerous this all is. i do not want to die. i just want it to not hurt so much. which is paradoxical, i know, but i need some balance here. physical to counter the twisting dissonance inside.

three-inch gash, half-inch deep. too bad it didn't even hurt.