I’d like to cut.
Met with human resources.
They’re going to write me up.
For coming out of the bathroom with a knife.
And putting it away.
They say I violated the weapons policy.
The knife was already there.
It was just a kitchen knife.
It wasn’t even mine.
I didn’t even cut.
Just was tempted.
But this girl said it “scared” her.
She sure as fuck wasn’t acting scared.
She was right up in my business.
I didn’t threaten her.
Didn’t point the knife her way.
Wouldn’t do something like that.
They know why I had the knife.
They know I was only being a danger to myself.
Even the girl knows that.
I’d already told her of my struggles.
She didn’t attempt to talk to me.
Just threw me under the bus.
And now I’m getting a write up.
Yeah. I want to fucking cut.
I’d carve myself to shit.
Never mind that I went to them for help with this.
Never mind that they are dragging their feet on my ADA paperwork.
Just write me up.
That’ll help me feel better about myself.
This is how you’re treated, part two.