It was a bread knife.
Long, cold, and serrated.
Just what I needed.
I still remember the first time I pulled that knife across my arm; I had been so, so stupid, doing it where everyone could see. It was so obvious, the four gashes on my forearm. It had been near impossible to hide them. My mom noticed the long sleeved hoodies, but I think she was too afraid to ask. It just escalated from there. I moved from bread knives, to scissors, to my shaving razor, to the box cutter my mom left lying around one day. It’s still tucked away in my box of special things.
I […]