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Dear Mom,
I want you to know first of all that I love you and nothing I'm going to say is because of you. It's because of me.
I'm sorry that you got me for a daughter. God did not make you to be the mother of a self-harmer.
I need to tell you some things that you will never know.
I didn't stop cutting myself. You think I stopped because you think it's only on my arms, but I smashed my razor and got the blades out of it and I've been cutting my right thigh. I'm sorry.
A few days ago I went in your bathroom to put something away for you and someone had thrown out a disposable razor. I stared at it in the trash can and realized that I can't control myself anymore. I got out of there but I'm afraid.
Talia dropped a cup the other day and it shattered on the floor next to me. She saw me looking at the pieces and she quick cleaned them up. How can she tell when you can't?
I wish we had never bought the lye. I keep opening the cabinet and looking at it and taking it down.
I try to burn myself in the shower. I bend my bobby pins out of shape and bite their heads off and scratch "failure" into my skin. I dry shave my body. I bite my tongue till it bleeds. I rip my cuticles and I wake up every morning with swollen fingers.
I think I need help and I don't think that baptism is the answer. This really hurts, Mom. I don't understand how you think I can just stop. You asked me the other day if I still felt like cutting myself and I said yeah, all the time.
I'm a self-harmer and you know it. Shouldn't that be a red flag that I still am cutting myself? I'm impulsive, Mom. I can't stop myself anymore.
I asked on a forum how to get ahold of oxycodone or morphine. Someone told me "Don't even think about it." Why not? It might make me feel better.
But to be honest, I don't want that. I want to fly away and breathe and feel like you're not sad at me all the time.
I'm sorry you had me.
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