I am sitting cross-legged and I am glowing. My arms are held out, hands, up, perfect deity goddess pose. Blood is running down the sides, and the glow from the screen is constant.
Really, I have this Patron Saint of Angst thing down perfectly.
Mirror shards lie around my feet. I smashed one earlier. Each of the edges is sharp.
"So why do you do it? Help me understand. For my daughter's sake."
Rewind to last year, when I am sitting in the school rent-a-cop's office after having my little "problem" called to attention by an alleged friend.
Oh, really, it's not that I resent her for calling me in. I would have been fine with it if it were my safety she were concerned about. Really, though, she just fancies herself the hero. The golden girl. Perfect.
"I really do love my little girl."
The rent-a-cop, he's near tears. I'm sitting in front of a husky, forty year old cop with my hands folded neatly in my lap and my legs crossed. He's crying because of his daughter. His daughter who looks like me.
"A little on the chubby side. She used to have long blonde hair, like yours, before she cut it off. I guess she did it so boys wouldn't like her so much."
Here is where he sighs.
"She was raped while staying with my ex-wife."
Here is where I don't say anything.
Because honestly, what do you say to that? I'm sorry I remind you of your daughter who is in a mental institution on suicide watch? I'm sorry she cuts herself, I'm sorry your life is so fucked up?
Remember, children, that I'm sitting in his office because of my "problems".
I don't know what to say, or do, or how to act, so I paste on my Concerned Stranger face and sit as he tells me all these things.
"You really do remind me so much of her..."
I want to say he reminds me of my own dad, but really, he's nothing like my dad. When my dad found out I was cutting, he just got angry at me, and then at my mom later for not telling him.
"What the fuck, I have a right to know this shit!" He'd said. "She's my fucking daughter too!"
That was where he'd slammed the bedroom door, and this fight was all my fault. Again.
"So, if you can tell me why you do it, to offer some insight for her, I would really appreciate it..."
But I can't tell him that I'm not really sure why, so I focus on her.
"Maybe she has abandonment issues over her mother. And I am almost certain she has low self-esteem."
I sigh. I'm in here to get help, and I'm giving it. Again.
When I finally get to leave, I see that friend from earlier talking to the woman who escorted me over. I am halfway across the room, but she is yelling, so it's easy to hear.
"No, you don't understand!"
"What? Hearing him talk about it will help her realize how bad it is."
"No, it won't, because she doesn't have that! She doesn't have parents who care!"
I sigh again.
And then I go for the mirror.