The story behind it (again): This is a picture of my arm and my sister’s. She’s the one with the tattoo I’m the one with the scars. I’ve been in a mental hospital for over a year because of selfharm, suicidal thoughts & a depression. Me and my sister always had a really close band. We only had each other but everything changed when I was hospitalised; she was alone and she couldn’t cope with the fact that I was unhappy. She kept blaming herself and tried everything to make me better. She always had to cry when I needed to go back to the hospital. She cried while calling ambulances for me and when she saw my not responding on the bathroom floor. But things got better, because of the hospital but because of her too. I had a reason to live, to exist. I realised I needed to get better because of her. She always told me it was me & her against the world. And believe me we were and we still are. So when I got better I still had all those marks on my arm, it made me sad ofcourse it reminded me of my lows and my demons. My sister saw how it affected my recovery and without I knew any of it she tattooed my birthday on her wrist. I kept asking her why why why. Her answer: ‘You don’t have your own arms anymore so you can have mine’ This picture shows how she pulls me up every time.
