Deep Scratches

June 26, 2010
By , Mexia, TX
Although she gave birth to me, I'm no the biggest fan of my mother. There are times we get along with each other and other so much. We kinda argue a lot and I feel bad about it but sometimes I can't help it and apparently neither can she.

I wish she didn't but my mom irks me with her nasally voice and being a worry wart when it comes to me growing up and being afraid I'll have sex or even just simply kiss a guy. It's silly I know. I should be happy that I'm lucky enough to even have a mother that feeds me and buys me food, clothes, things I want, but I'm not always happy with her.

One day apparently she irked me to my limit. We were, ironically, arguing about church and other holy things of that matter. I don't remember everything that was yelled but eventually I walked away very ticked off. As I was walking down the hall I heard her nasally voice shout, "Go clean your bathroom! And then I'm gonna take your phone up you little....!"
She had never called me that before; never said anything like that before. And the way she said it, so cruelly and harshly, it kind of hurt. I ran straight to my bathroom, slammed the door and locked it. Then I just sat on the edge of my bathtub.

I think I've always had a little bit of depression, or at least I've had it since the fifth grade, and right then, sitting on the tub reflecting what I had just heard come out of my own mother's mouth, a great wave of depression swept me away. I started scratching my left wrist with my fore finger up and down, scratch-scratch, up and down. I didn't even realizing what I was doing. Then I started scratching side to side...a cross.

Finally I found my way out of the dramatic sea of depression that had washed me away and it stung. Ashamed of what I had done, I started scrubbing my bathroom clean until it shined like the north star.

The next day at school, a few friends noticed the scratches. "I was hauling wood and the bark on the wood scraped me," was my lame excuse although it wasn't a total lie because that had happened but the wood scraped me on my legs.


It didn't take long for the stinging scratches to heal down to a dull scar. Every time I look at my wrist I frown at myself and think about how pitiful and dramatic that was of me. I never meant to do that and it disappoints me that I did such a thing to my body. Now it's like my shameful cross to bear now and I promised myself NEVER to do that again because how can I respect others if I can't even respect myself and my own body?

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ellyn-bo-bellyn_2014 said...
Oct. 6, 2010 at 3:23 pm
This is good. I like the message behind it too. Really great work, Anonymous. Really great work. :)
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