Mind Over Matter, (I lost my war)

Pain wasn't an addiction. It wasn't a plea. Pain was in a way, to grasp reality when nothing else was. In pain, i wasn't alone, simply because, everyone felt it. I was on a battlefield in a white picket fence dream, and i was losing to my emotions as my family quietly fell into a disarray that we would never recover from.1

It was November when i woke up from a dazed subconscious. Simple, piercing, disturbingly unwelcome awakening, and every night since, I hated the dawn. I learned, and quickly, that i was only safe in my mind and even that turned against me.  From that November on, I was a cutter, stemmed from grief among loss of a lost family member. This tale is not an original one, nor is the pain, or the situations, and that, even if it was not happy, anchored me to life. Although it was a near thing. Yet, its mine as is my stark relief scars, from that dark wintery November I was a cutter. Plain and simple, from then on the illicit faces of my family were not a haven, but a jury.  2