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Quote by Caroline Kettlewell

“You might imagine that a person would resort to self-mutilation only under extremes of duress, but once I'd crossed that line the first time, taken that fateful step off the precipice, then almost any reason was a good enough reason, almost any provocation was provocation enough. Cutting was my all-purpose solution.”

Quote by Caroline Kettlewell

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Skin Game

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Caroline Kettlewell

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“and afterward, after it was done, it was too much, and I felt like I was going to... I don't know.... explode, and it was just too much, I had to let it out you know? I had to- I interrupted her hysteria It's okay, I understand. That was a lie. I didn't get her cutting at all. She'd done it sporadically, ever since the accident and it scared me each time. She'd try to explain it to me, how she didn't want to die - she just needed to get it out somehow. She felt so much emotionally, she would say, that a physical outlet - physical pain - was the only way to make her internal pain go away. It was the only way she could control it.”

“Willow sees her before any of the others. A walking skeleton, the victim of some terrible wasting disease, like something out of the history books, a death camp survivor. It takes Willow a moment to realize that the girl is none of those things. She's just a girl, a girl like Willow, who's chosen to inflict terrible pain on herself. Only this girl's weapon isn't a razor, it's starvation.”

“Every lineament of the girl's wasted body is a testament to her inner turmoil. Willow can only imagine what kind of pain she must be in to destroy herself that way. She knows there's something ironic in her compassion for the other girl, but she can't help feeling that this utter mortification of the flesh is far worse than anything that she herself has done.”

“Englezul râde, avem umor noi, românii, și comandă spare ribs. Șefa mea încremenește atunci când ne trezim la masă cu un platou pe care tronează un morman de coaste de porc. Traduc "Păi oase!? Am venit la Londra să mâncăm tot oase?" Englezul e năuc. Îl lămuresc că doamna vrea friptură. Ok. Chelnerul vrea să știe cum o vrem. Traduc: la grătar. El insistă, cum să fie: rare, medium, done, well done? Mă trece transpirația. Habar n-am ce zice. Într-un final mă prind: întreabă cât să fie de mare friptura și zic medium, vorba patroanei, "ca să nu creadă ăștia că suntem nemâncate.”

“I still can’t wrap my mind around crossing that line of human behavior – civilized people punching and fighting, making violence their communication of choice. Is it because I’m a woman, I’ve never considered hitting someone who acted inappropriately? Even one of my best male friends, a gentle man, a believer in spirit and mankind, has thrown a few punches in his time. As a writer, my weapons are words. The thought of hurting someone physically to prove my point has never and will never be an option for me. Well, let me amend that: if someone hurt my child in front of me, tiger-mother’s claws would come out.”