Learning To Love You More




Assignment #11
Photograph a scar and write about it.

Kira Okamoto
Hilo, Hawaii USA



It was a Friday night and everything seemed worse than they seemed. The binges I had all week, the weight I had gained, the fact that I would never be able to starve myself enough to get down to a weight that no girl should ever be. I didn't even want to go to my play rehearsal the next day, even though I had worked so hard to get the role of Lady Macbeth. I didn't want to be anywhere or do anything or see anyone. I wanted to die, so I slashed my wrists, even though I promised myself I'd never do it again because I hated the scars it left.
Instead of dying, I got a one-way ticket to a hospital emergency room. I waited all night in the ER with my mother, feeling awful and guilty and a little relieved that I was still alive. Finally, at 4AM, a tired doctor saw me. He scrubbed my wrist violently with alcohol. When he saw the expression of pain on my face, he apologized. When I said he didn't have to apologize, he gave me a weird look that made me feel even worse.
I didn't die that night. I was flown on a medical airplane to another island with more doctors and better hospitals, and I got help there. Now I am happier, I eat normally, and I don't mind if my old pants don't fit anymore. This is just another story of something terrible turning out to be good in the end.