Lines

"Mommy, why are thewe so many lines?" Elisa, my three year old daughter asks from my lap, looking up at me with a frown. 

My heart nearly stops. This is the question I've been hoping would never come. I look down at her and ask, "What did you say, sweetie?"

She turns my wrist over and frowns deeper. "Look, Mommy. Lines."

I can't breathe for a moment. 

Oh God, think. I can't tell her. I can't tell my daughter that I used to drag a razor across my skin to feel better. I can't tell my daughter that I fantasized about killing myself every day for the first nineteen years of my life. I can't tell my daughter that I almost succeeded several times.

"Mommy was in an accident when she was younger, sweetie."

Eyes the color of the bluest skies one can imagine look up at me horrified. "No. I don't want Mommy to be hurt." The look on her face is like a stab to my chest. She wraps her chubby little arms around my waist and hugs me as tightly as she can. My eyes well up with tears. I stroke her blonde ringlets gently with one hand, wrap the other arm around her, and let the tears run down my face.

In all of my twenty-four years of life, I don't think I've ever regretted dragging that damnable razor against my skin. 

"I'm okay, Elisa. It's okay," I whisper to her, afraid to speak any louder lest my voice betray my tears.

It doesn't work. Elisa struggles to free herself and looks up at me. "Mommy, why are you cwying?"

"Because I love you very much, sweetie." I look at her with tears in my eyes and stroke her hair softly. 

"I love you, Mommy," she smiles up at me. Her face looks so hopeful. 

I force a smile and kiss the top of her head. "Why don't you go play with Mushroom?" Mushroom is our new Corgi puppy. Obviously, we let Elisa name her. Elisa's face lights up and she climbs off my lap, yelling, "Mushwoom!!!!"

I watch her go and the tears stream down my face. I hear movement behind me and my husband's arms wrap around me and pull me to him. I sob into his chest and he just strokes my back gently, murmuring soothing things to me until I quietly down and just begin to shake.

"Shhh, honey...It's okay...."

Gradually, I begin to stop shaking and look up at him with my tear-stained face. He moves his thumb across my face, wiping my tears. I lean forward and press my lips to his hungrily. 

He kisses me back with assured calmness and continues to stroke my back. 

I lose myself in him until he pulls away and sets his head atop my own. "Oh, angel...."

Hearing his voice makes my lip quiver. I reply barely audibly, "She asked."

I feel his nod and close my eyes. He wraps his arms around me tighter and holds me soundlessly.

I bury my face in his shoulder and whimper softly. His thumb rubs circles soothingly. "Oh, baby....I wish I could take the hurt," he whispers into my ear. 

My husband was the one that saw me the last time I'd cut myself. It was five years ago at the county fair. I was wear shorts and a t-shirt. The shorts were barely long enough to cover the fresh from the night before cuts on my thighs, the t-shirt baggy enough to fit two of me in. Back then, I was ashamed of my body, I wanted to be thinner. I was barely a hundred pounds and five feet three inches tall. My hip bones jutted out, but it wasn't enough.

I was at the fair only because my sister had dragged me along. Only because she didn't want me alone in her apartment. She didn't want to clean up the blood. But I had my trusty razor in my pocket. I never left home without it. You never knew when the insults were going to come. 

Back then, my wrists were covered in deep, red lines all the time. No one said anything though. Too afraid to catch the freak's germs. 

Once at the fair, my sister had abandoned me. Typical. I'd walked around for a while and come face to face with a popular girl from my old high school and her best friend. Aprille Rhoades and Mae Matthews. I had my headphones in, praying that they would just let it go. Of course I was not that lucky.

She stopped and looked down at me. "Oh. Look at that, Mae. It's the freak." In response, Mae grinned evilly and blocked my attempt to get away.

I don't know how long they pushed me around, insulted me, or even threw me to the ground. I just remember finally breaking free and running for the bathroom, tears streaming down my face. The bathroom door was locked. There was an empty stable right next to the bathroom. My legs collapsed from under me and so I crawled over and attempted to hide as much as possible in the darkness. 

Removing my razor from its velvet pouch in my pocket, I touched the cool metal to my wrist. There were already so many lines...I pressed down and a drop of blood appeared. Not enough. I pressed harder than I'd ever pressed and dragged down most of my forearm. My vision blurred but the pain was wonderful. Blood welled up and slowly ran down my forearm. Oh God, there had never been that much blood before. Oh no, what had I eaten today? Why was I getting so dizzy? Why was no one around? 

Why was I still around? Taking a deep breath, I decided. This was it. At least here, no one had to worry about my blood being in the way. I pressed the razor to the arms and dragged it into my vein. Damn. When the razor bit, it bit. I'd asked it to bite harder and it had gladly accepted. More blood was running down my arm. Oh no, what had I done? My head was spinning viciously now.

Just then I heard, "Hello? Is someone there?"

Just before everything went back, I heard a small voice say, "Help."

My husband kisses my forehead and brings me back to reality. "Honey, are you okay?"

I nod, a bit dazed. "I love you."

"I love you too. You're amazing, and important, and beautiful, and you mean the world to me." With the last word, he wrapped his arms around me and just held me. 

"We'll get through it together."

(Author's Note: If anyone ever needs anyone to talk to, please feel free to message me. I'm always here.)