I just want to find a box big enough to fit in and crawl inside it and cry. But then I realize that cardboard is just thicker paper and eventually my tears would rip the box apart; the same way he ripped me apart. Ripping away my sense of trust in people I should've been able to and ripping my innocence to shreds. Sometimes I want to shut down and faint, hoping to hit my head on something so that I get amnesia. Sometimes I want to rip my fingers off because I learned early on that touch is the strongest sense; I still haven't stopped feeling him touching parts of my body I didn't even know existed. Sometimes I want to go blind so that I don't have to see what I've let my body become; in desperate attempts to dissuade anyone from ever wanting to touch me again. But most days, I wish I was dead; that would take care of everything in one neat little package.