The Proof of Being Bullied Stayed on Her Wrist

Because the stresses she’d endured NEED an outlet, they need to be “expressed”…

She was, picked on by her classmate, because she was, from a lower income household, her father left her mother and her, and, her mother went with someone else, left her, on the front porch of her grandparents, and, they had, NO other options, but to take her in.

not my photograph…

Since she’d started school, she felt inferior, especially as the other kids’ parents came to pick them up after school, she’d walked that long, lonely road home.  And, it wasn’t long, before the rest of her class learned, that she was not, as same as they are, and, they’d, taunted her, for being different, and, because they’d, bullied her in a covert manner, her school teachers didn’t notice a thing.

But, she’d felt, the pains, of being different, of being picked on by others, and, in a “chance encounter”, she’d, accidentally, cut herself as she was, doing an art project for school, and, the moment that the blood flowed out, she felt, aroused, and, it felt, good, something, she’d, never, experienced before.

not my photograph still…

It wasn’t long, until she figured it out, that cutting herself was the way, to let all of the pains she’d held inside out, and, at first, the wounds were like the paper cuts, “accidental”, then, they’d become, intentional.

The proof of being bullied stayed on her wrist, although she’d worked real hard, to forget that part of her younger years, but, the ugly proof had, showed up, on her wrists, as a reminder, of the pains, the sufferings, she’d gone through, and, each and every time she’d glanced down at her wrists, she’d felt, awful, and, wanted to cut into her own flesh again.

The proof of being bullied stayed on her wrist, and, she didn’t know where to get the help she needed, until one day, she’d invited her best friend over, to complete a homework assignment, she’d felt that surge of pain coming on, and excused herself, went into her own bedroom, to grab that small blade, she sat there, in front, of her dresser mirror, with the blood, trickling down from her forearm, and, her best friend walked in, and, was shocked, at what she saw, and, the shock in her best friend’s eyes had, imprinted into her mind, it’d become, her motivation, to stop cutting, because, for the very first time in her life, she felt that she’d mattered to someone else.