Random Thoughts

My mother was a cutter. My grandma told me that my mother started cutting her writs when she was 14 years old. I have often held a razor blade to my wrist and tried to slice into my flesh just so I could feel what she felt, to try and understand why she cut herself, but I could never bring myself to break the skin.

We found in her in the tub once covered in blood both wrists slashed. We found her in an old steamer trunck once, both wrists slashed. My grandma would buy bottles of hydrogen perioxide to pour over the cuts and she would bandage my mother up. Not once did she ever go to the hospital.
Once she cut her throat, three cuts along the front. Not too deep of course.
Blood was the common theme of my childhood.