TW TW TW KNIVES AND ABUSE AND SELF HARM

She would open the kitchen drawer, and as it moved, I felt pain run through every inch of my body. Inch after inch, uneasy, crooked, wooden kitchen drawers. A shudder of fear would slip down my backside, in a way to cower from becoming known, and yet, I would cry. The drawer was open completely, now, in a single moment that felt like minutes, and she reaches inside for a big, scary knife. Mama doesn't let me touch the knives without an adult, because I'm only seven. She holds it to her wrist, and tells me that she'll do it if I don't listen. I always listen. I wish Mama trusted me to hold my own knife, I would never do what Aunt Megan is doing. I promise. I promise.