*Your POV*
*5 years later*
"Mommy, what's wrong with your wrists?" My daughter asked, pointing to my scars.
For one split second, I felt the feeling of depression and the anxiety, the feeling like I was drowning, the feeling like there was no escape from anything.. all over again.
"W-well.." I began to quietly stutter.
"Sweetie, when mommy was younger, I was very hurt." I began to explain.
"How?" The interest increased more in her voice.
"People were very rude to me.."
"What did they do?"
"Um.. well.. w-when I was in school, people called me mean names, and told me very harsh things.." I choked out.
"Fatass"
"Slut!"
"Whore!"
"Kill yourself"
"Nobody will ever want you"
Some of the words slowly rushed through my head.
"And they gave you your booboos?" She questioned.
"N-no.. mommy gave them to herself.." I started to tear up.
"How?"
"You don't want to know." I smiled and looked into her eyes.
She has eyes just like her father's...
"Will your booboos ever go away?" She concerned.
"No, sweetheart."
"But, when I was 18, I met a boy who really loved me. He made me feel like.. I was alright. And that I wasn't hurt anymore. I felt safe."
"And, ever since I've meet him, he helped me realize that I am loved by someone, and he helped me stop giving myself booboos." I smiled.
"Where did he go?" She worried.
"Nowhere." I chuckled.
"That man.. is your daddy." I added.
"*GASPS*! That was daddy?!" She gasped.
"Mhm." I nodded.
"What's daddy's name again?" She tilted her head.
"Taylor." I smiled.
"Taylor Michael Caniff."
