Tuesday, June 18, 2013


I am a member of the family
I am a member of the housework crew
I am my parent’s possession
I am their trophy
I am a representative for Christ
I am a future mother in a future family preparing to serve a future husband
I am not an individual.
Feelings are superfluous, needs are selfishness, I do not know the vocabulary of self.
I am depressed overly dramatic
I am hungry gluttonous
I am tired and overworked lazy
I am sick weak
I have anxiety lack faith
I need affirmation whine too much
I need privacy am selfish
I need to be respected punished
I do not deserve to have needs.
So I take tweezers and tear a blade out of my father’s razor. And I keep the razor in a tiny jewelry box that my grandma gave me, under the cotton, because nobody can see it, because using it is selfish, and I am ashamed. But nothing compares to the relief of sliding the blade across the soft parts of my thighs, my calves, my ankles, my wrists.
Simultaneously punishing myself and expressing my hurt.
People deserve love
people deserve support
people deserve respect
But I don’t know these things

 Because I am not an individual
I am not a person
I do not know the vocabulary of self.

(I wrote this post as an entry for the Homeschoolers Anonymous blog. You can see the Original Post here)

1 comment:

  1. Hi Sarah,
    Wow. I am inspired. I thank you for your blog. I guess I am not ready to be as public as you. I just wanted to write and thank you. I just read your post on the home schoolers anonymous blog. You mentioned cutting. That and some of your other posts about being punished. Resonated in a way. I was punished. The rod of correction. But I remember when I was at bible study when I was 17. The study was on submission. The other kids treated it as a joke but at home submission and the abandonment of personal self interest had been the centre point of my life. Any hint of self interest was selfishness and met with chastisement. Anyway at this meeting I silently resolved to be absolutely the best most submissive daughter. After I told my parents this they tested me by requiring me to submit to the cane. That became my cutting. To receive pain. To accept the pain. I only really just made the connection. I have known that others cut. I am strange. Sorry. Thanks for your blog.