“If i cannot breathe, and my heart, my soul is congested and suffocating, a small slice of my leg, a wee slit on the inner flesh of a thigh will give me that one more breath with which I can catch the next breath, with which I can cach the next one, until, sooon, I’m breathing normally, or relatively so, and my focus is no longer on ME, or my pain, or my suffering, or, even worse- my confusion, but instead on the beautiful, beautiful, BEAUTIFUL droplets of blood that are rising slowly to the surface of the wounds i have only just made.”