I know why the caged bird sings because I am a caged bird. I am a caged bird that has been singing a song, a song that expresses my longing to be free for years. I long to be free from the cage that is my nutty family. I long to be free from being relegated to the invisible albeit “black sheep” role that they have me stuck in, in their minds. When I left “home” at 17 I thought I would find freedom from their caging me in. Hasn’t happened. Even since I have moved out to go to college I am still in this cage. Everyone is them and their criticism of me is in everyone else. I don’t know who I am but whoever I am I must suck and therefore in my hating them I think I hate myself too.
Cutting myself feels. Cutting myself makes the feel real. The first cut is the deepest. The first cut is the emotional experience that screws me right up. The first cut comes always from someone else. It isn’t my fault. I don’t do it. I don’t ask for it. People just deliver it to me constantly – treating me like shit.