I awaken with a gasp, heart galloping from my chest and sweat running down face. Again, the world tilts like the old fun house I used to visit when I was young and for a split second I hear my dad say, don’t drift too far Matthew… if only he could see me- a wave rises within, my back curves in bracing for impact. I scramble for the trash can and heave into the can. As I pant, I wonder what my life has come to. These scars may be a rising problem but most of mine had started long ago

Don’t drift too far Matthew…

I search, breathless, hoping a new scar hasn’t appeared and just when I believe I’m safe, I spot it. Long and thin, starting at the top of my shoulder and arching partially down my back. In a sick way I imagine the knife slicing the skin. How the blood would take a second to rise as I run my finger across its raised smoothness. How does one even get stabbed here? It’s sickening that after 12 days, I’ve already become desensitized to the newest addition to my body. The dream flits and taunts behind my eyelids but evades me once again. I grunt and throw my pen to the ground and only then notice I had gripped it hard enough to draw blood. I close my fist with renewed vigor, determined to learn what is causing these scars.