Dear Sharon,
I love you and I’m sorry.
The day I told you I cut, wasn’t the first time
In fact, I told myself that if you were concerned- it would
be the last.
So, I walked up to you and said “I cut myself today”
I saw the fear in your eyes, and I saw the need to ask
questions.
I’m happy you didn’t, I’m sad you didn’t. understand?
I so desperately wanted to feel safe, and wanted to be loved
so much
I didn’t know what else to do, I wanted to feel so badly, I
wanted to feel something other than anger.
I was angry at you for so long, and I was angry at the
world, at my parents and at every other ‘friend’
I managed to bag.
I didn’t know how to tell you that the harsh words and
insults delivered as jokes tired me
And I was extremely fragile, without coming off as overly
sensitive- you know the way water is good for plants but too much isn’t and the
way sunlight is good for plants, but too much is not.
How was I supposed to convey to you that I craved balance?
How could I have told you, that I hated my body when I
exuded so much confidence?
See, it was little things at first, my parents constantly
nagging- feeling underappreciated all the time
Then it was the big things, standing in the mirror watching
my body parts mock me.
I was so together in appearance; I didn’t know how to be
weak.
I needed so badly to break down all my walls, and weep
For the perfection I was and the imperfection I was becoming
I didn’t know till too late, till I needed the pain too much
and was hungry for the blood from my cuts
That it was okay, okay to be imperfect.
If it’s any comfort, I found peace and beauty in my cuts,
they are my peace scars.
I hope you know that I’m so desperately sorry, but now, the
voices in my head are quiet.
I did love you, Sharon.
Your friend; Rose.