I Now Understand Why my Mum used to Burn Me.

"Jenny, come here!" "It's almost ready!" Mom would call from the kitchen. As the fear set in, the hairs on my body would stand on end. It was hard for me to get out of bed because my body felt like wet noodles. With each step, I felt shaky, and I nervously ran my fingers along my arms' burned skin.

It had been years since I had been to school, so I couldn't go now. As soon as they saw my arms, child social services would be at the door. But my mum told me to stay home. She was adamant that she had to burn me because they would come for me if did not.

I didn't know what to call it at the time; some people would call it insanity. But when my mum called, I'd go to the kitchen. Mother had really let go of the house; she hadn't cleaned in years. The house smelled musty, wasn't well taken care of, and was falling apart. Complete chaos, just the way mum wanted it. Mother smelled like bad pee because she hadn't taken a bath in weeks. She had thick strands of hair coming out. She kept smoking, and her rough teeth turned yellow. That picture is stuck in my mind, God. When I saw her, she was standing over the stove with a big kitchen knife sitting on top of the flame. She looked crazy and wild. That knife was the only thing she seemed to keep clean. I held on tight to the door frame as it burned orange and red.

In her baby voice, she told me, "Come on, baby, it'll only hurt for a minute." But it would hurt for weeks or months before it healed properly. It wouldn't hurt for a minute. I took a…