"I would rather have no daughter at all than have you as one."

As her words sliced through my skin,

I scratched my own behind closed doors.

I am stupid. I am ugly.

She doesn’t love me.

My sister, my savior:

"What's that?"

Lines of red covered my arms.

How could I let her see that?

I’m so stupid.

I had to stop.

I had to stop for her.

To have her go down a spiral of self-hatred,

Just like me,

Would break my heart.

One year later,

I look down at my wrists,

I can see faint white lines,

A reminder of my recovery.

I do not harm myself anymore.

I have a new mantra now:

I am caring. I am carefree.

I am happy.