Chapter 18: Alternatives
My therapist has something for me to do when I want to do bad things
She wants me to make black ink marks on white paper instead of slitting my wrists,
She wants me to drink water instead of vodka,
instead of hanging from the rafters she wants me to imagine flying like a bird,
instead of losing myself in drugs she wants me to lose myself in painting,
instead of filling my lungs with the smoke she wants me to fill them with clean oxygen,
instead of hating myself I should tell myself one thing I like about it.
She has all these alternatives that makes me want to split my wrists even more.
Is that possible?
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PoetryShe was perfect. Well what everyone else saw was perfect. What they did not see was not so perfect. The depression, the jagged scars on her burning wrists and thighs, the tears she wept at night after the fights, the bruises left on her body by her...
