(Serious serious serious Trigger warning several mentions of self-harm. It’s even difficult for me to go back over it editing after all this time so I felt I should make this clear.)
It’s just a rock I say to my mom
She looks skeptical but she doesn’t ask any more questions
It’s just a rock I said after I told her what I did with it and she looks at me sadly
It’s just a rock I say as I look at my puffy red forearm
It’s just a rock and it didn’t even cut through any skin
I didn’t even bleed so what’s the big deal
It was just a rock I explained to my therapist just over half a year later
But now that I think about it I know I’m wrong
It wasn’t just a rock
It was what I did with the rock
It was the thoughts that led to me using the rock
It was the buildup of emotions
It was the silent outcry that I thought only I could hear before it happened
It was the feelings that I felt afterward
It’s what I did with the rock
It’s the sickness I feel whenever I think about it
It’s why I never want to feel that low again
It’s just a rock I said
But the fact is it wasn’t ever ‘just a rock’
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