Day Thirty-Three:
There’s a bandage around my hand now, and I don’t like it. I want to be able to see the scars, and trace my fingers along the creases I had made. To me they are beautiful, a wonderful symbol of my struggle of moving on from the past. But the boys just don’t understand.
They’ve been watching me nonstop, not allowing me to do anything myself or go anywhere myself. I’m becoming suffocated.