hands.

One may find it difficult to explain something in which they do not understand.
                                           while
Another may know that something like the back of their hand.


I dont know my hand.
Yes, I am aware that I do indeed, have a hand.
The hand is brown. Has thick and sausage like fingers, and the middle ones bend to the right at the very top.

Its just that sometimes I become lost when it comes to whose hand it is. 

It doesn't make sense, does it?
Its difficult to explain. 


And it's becoming more frequent.

One moment I go lay down for a nap after yet another sleepless night, and the next I wake up in different sweats and my pajama shirt.
No big deal.
Then I receive a text from my boyfriend asking if I would care to know what he said to them.
Assuming he used the pronoun to describe a group of kids at school or his family, I told him that I would love to.
My messages were erased.
Silly mistake?
As I wait for his reply, I notice that my legs feel as if they are on fire.
Thinking a bug bit me, I look down my pants and wince as the fabric is pulled off of my skin.
Cuts. Gashes. : 19 on my hips. 14 on my upper thighs.
I start sobbing at the thought of my mother and how shed react.
How I had ruined everything we were trying to fix since the 8th grade.
But it wasn't my fault.
I didn't put the razor to my flesh.
They did.

So really, whose hand is it?