She Found Out I Wasn't Okay
The first time she found out I was hurting myself was on New Years Day. You can't see me but I just snorted. My family has a knack for never ending or starting the year right. I was maybe 13, and started at the age of 12 (or 11, I'm never sure anymore), so it had been a while when she first found out. Thirteen year-old me thought it was a great idea to take pictures of the cuts I cast upon myself, which was stupid. I was stupid. Maybe I didn't put a passcode on my iPod, or maybe I did and gave her the password, but she scrolled through the various pictures in my camera roll and saw. I didn't know she saw until she walked through our bedroom door with tears streaming down her face, and her smile replaced with anger.