She was standing next to me, her hand just above above mine on the subway pole. If it hadn't been for the band-aid, I wouldn’t have looked twice at her hand. But I did. Just to the right, partly covered by the tape, there was a white scar, an X. And to the right of that? A faint white heart at the base of her thumb.
I looked at her wrist – another scar, just a thin white line. I wondered what was under the band-aid – more cutting? An O, perhaps?
Because what else would it be?
Still, the heart threw me. I love you, I harm you. I hate me, I love me. A hug, a kiss, a heart - carved right into the flesh.
Every day, there are stories, as long as you know where to look.
05 November 2010
Look At The Heart
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12 comments:
Oh. What a post, Maggie.
I'm so glad you are looking and sharing the stories with us.
we often don't take the time to notice everyone's stories...but their there - just like you said. Kind of makes you more curious.
I sometimes have to do a bit of driving for the work I'm doing now, so I picked up a Story Corps CD this week. There was one in which the elder sister interviewed the younger one, the cutter. She talked about her obsession, how she would itch all over when she was trying not to cut herself, but I never got a glimmer of understanding as to why she, or anyone, would turn to this. I understand hurting yourself, but I just don't get this method.
What FireAnt said.
Wow. Just wow.
ouch.
a dear friend of mine struggled with cutting.
I haven't been here in a while. Don't take it personally because I haven't had time to read any blogs in recent months. But boy am I glad I stopped by to read this. Such a short post but just amazing. I remember cutting weird things into my skin as a teenager. What a bizarre habit and to this day I can't explain why I did it.
Yes, indeed, there are stories.
Cutting where it can be seen seems like a cry for help.
Maggie.
This is just gorgeously written.
I'm blown away.
A friend of mine cut in high school...I remember her coming in one day with a bandanna wrapped around her hand cause she'd cut too deep and won't let us take her for stitches...I always wonder, 35 years later, what she thinks when she sees the scar.
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