“I have dug a grave inside of my body each time my mother told me ‘I do not believe you. You are trying to get attention’. I have buried my childhood where nobody dares rob it. I am littered with cemeteries she will never leave flowers in. I have torched my heart every time I heard her say 'There is nothing wrong with you. You need to stop making this shit up’. I am the picture of internal bleeding. I am cardiac arrest in motion. I have held my breath each time I try to let her know I am struggling. 'There are no symptoms’, she says, 'how can something be happening to you that I cannot see?’ I wear bleeding diary inscriptions under my sleeves. I am locked closet doors and flooding basements. There is no way to explain that everything that I live through has been swallowed whole.”