It's not easy to punch yourself square in the jaw.

Ed Norton made it look easy.

Drunks make it look easy.

But it's not.

It's even harder when you're a young girl.

But, as my father says, "You'll have this."

There are a lot of things my father says.

Where was I?

Right. Punching.

The first few times I tried it, I misjudged and missed.

Depth perception is a funny thing.

The fourth or fifth time, I landed it. I was aiming for the eye. I got the cheek. I sat, shocked.

Like, oddly enough, someone had hit me.

I waited.

An hour. Two.

Nothing.

I tried again. This time, harder. I needed this.

I hit the same spot. I could've sworn I moved a tooth that time. I had to prove something.

I spent loads of time doing this. Attack and defense. Action vs. inaction.

When it actually happened, I crumbled like a leaf. I always did. I always would.

In those moments, and in the days that always followed, I wished to be a different person. Not

someone who wasn't me, per se, but a different kind of person.

The kind of person who bruised easily. On the outside instead of the inside.

Because if I had been, maybe someone would've believed me.