...suddenly having a blade between my fingers. I suddenly saw blood ooze out so slowly into beads that then trickle down my arms. Too many lines down the inside of my arm to even begin to count. The blood makes it harder.

...crying, but I can't remember over what exactly. Everything had melded together into one big swirl of emotion, a non-thought in my head. A smog of confusion. A tingling in my fingertips and I dropped the blade.

...feeling a sort of awe as I see a tear drop onto my arm, into the mess of blood. And I see the colour run, diluted. I bit my lip, wondering if I had really meant to get this far. It wasn't much of a fear of death, but a feeling of loss of life. Of a life I used to dream of achieving.

...my mother's tears when she helped to clean the blood away. The redness of my brother's eyes as he watched quietly. I remember seeing raw red lines on my pale skin. How quiet my brother was when he patched me up.

...how my mother hadn't gotten angry, but instead and for once, she seemed to see my struggle all those times. She seemed to understand what I really needed then. She held my hand. She might have said something but I didn't hear her. I wouldn't have remembered because everything that really needed to be said was in her hands, in her arms when she hugged me. I remember how my brother had put his arm around my shoulders and kissed my hair. I remember how that was the first time they saw the side of me that I had been struggling with for years.

I remembered this moment today, thinking of how it had been a little over three years. Thinking of all the ways I was saved.