Recovery

Warnings

My mother warned me about cigarettes that could cause cancer. But she never told me that self-hatred can grow faster than any tumour ever could.

My father warned me that I should never stop thinking. But he never told me that overthinking would kill my happiness.

My sister warned me about other people who might make hurtful comments about me. But she never told me that instead of hearing someone else's voice, I'd hear my own.

My brother warned me about drugs in baggies that were sold in the street. But he never told me about the ones that people put in your glass when you're not looking.

My grandmother warned me about the devil with his tail and red horns. But she never told me about his angelic smile and dark, ocean blue eyes.

My grandfather warned me about booze that could kill. But he never told me that if you drink enough alcohol, it tastes like love.

My cousin warned me that I should lose my virginity to a guy I love. But she never told me he should love me, too.

My aunt warned me that if I kept eating that much, I might vomit. But she never told me that even without eating anything, you can hang over the toilet and puke.

My baby sitter warned me that a boy could break my heart. But she never told me that if I made him mad, he'd also break my arm and nose.

My teacher warned me about dangerous men with knives that could cut my throat. But she never told me that I didn't need any of these men to cut my skin.

They all warned me that I shouldn't do dangerous things that could kill me. But I never had the chance to ask if slitting both my wrists vertically and taking thirty-eight asprins, was one of these dangerous things.