I don't remember why I started cutting. Maybe it was because I heard that others did it when there was nothing else to do. Maybe it was because I thought that I would give it a try, to relieve myself of some pain. Maybe I did It to prove my mother wrong. Maybe, just maybe, it was to see if I could bleed the gay out.

I had always blamed my mother for some of my problems. Maybe I should have blamed myself. I blamed my mother when my grandparents started to think of me as a disappointment, an abomination. If it wasn't for her, they would still love me.

Half of the time, I blamed myself. I blamed myself for being different. I blamed myself for ruining other's hopes and expectations.

Most of all, I blamed myself for being gay.