I ate a cherry tomato

On a Monday afternoon, I felt like a cocoon no matter how much I breathed. Sitting, standing, even walking. Monday when people tuck themselves neatly into their shoes and socks.

I haven't watched "Sunrise" yet, but I know that Chen Bailu has a line: "The sun has risen. But, we are going to sleep."

Everyone yawned again and again, and the sound of eating melon seeds was clear. I ate a cherry tomato, and the juice began to bite the wound on the inner wall of my mouth. The pain caused me to burst out of my cocoon in an instant, and I started to search in a boring way: "Why can't the wound heal?".

It turns out that medically this situation is called "chronic wounds that do not heal for a long time", which sounds a little sad. However, when I was a child, I was very daring and liked to jump up and down. I must have suffered a lot and suffered various injuries, big and small. Why was no one discovered at that time?

Saying so, is there also a little bit of resentment and self-pity. But this matter is indeed my own discovery, and I have to bear the bitter consequences.

I remember being in the dormitory one semester. When I used a fruit knife, I accidentally cut the middle finger of my left hand. Although I didn’t even faint, but I was a little scared when I saw the bright red blood gushing out of the wound one by one. . My roommate took my hand to turn on the faucet, and rushed down with a clatter, leaving a mess in the pool.

The wound was so painful that I didn't know where it was. Anyway, I remembered that it was pressed, so I randomly pulled a roll of gauze to wrap it. When I changed the gauze the next day, I found that the wound had no signs of healing at all, but fresh blood kept pouring out, which frightened people, and rushed me to the hospital for bandaging. The nurse looked at my wound and looked surprised, and said a lot. Others were also injured yesterday, and they healed well today. Why does yours look like a new injury.

For some reason, this sounded like I was blaming myself, so when I lowered my head, tears fell. She just thought I was in pain, so she smiled and comforted and said that she would be fine soon, and she would give me a very smart gel that could help blood clotting. The aches and pains that had filled my heart inexplicably at first were reduced inch by inch, first in the eye sockets, and then in the choked throat. There is no way for a heart, it has already been soaked in sourness, if someone else said a little more, it will immediately fill up again.

Since then, I have discovered that I have always been afraid of being told that my health is not good here and there. It feels a hundred times more powerful than saying that I am not good, and it seems like it can kill me.

But I still don't understand what's going on. It's just that when someone mentions it, I have to bow my head and shed a tear for myself. In this way, I'm more and more convinced of what others said before. Who told me that I couldn't help but make such a pitiful look, and it seemed that I was sad about it.

Later, when I went to the street once, I met a mother and daughter, and heard the mother whisper that this is not good for your health, but her daughter who looked only three years old said crisply, I just want to be in bad health!

When I heard this, I was stunned for a while, and just stopped there. Until they passed me, strode forward, and finally disappeared into the crowd. And I couldn't recover for a long time, I just felt my ears buzzing, and kept repeating the sentence, "I just want to be in bad health".

I just want to be sick.

I just want to be sick.

In addition to being shocked, I actually felt a kind of pleasure of my own revenge: I just want to be in bad health. In this way, the original feeling that was inexplicably wanted to be covered seems to have an outlet: I am like this, I just want to be in bad health.

This feeling is not simply generated and then lingered there, at the mercy of others. It almost desperately climbed up and jumped up, it wanted to quickly land on the head of a hapless guy, so that all his anger could be vented on him, including the ruins he unintentionally pointed out, and also returned to him. .

I don't want to just bow my head and cry silently. If I can't be hysterical, I'm often just moaning for nothing. So I should have pushed that knife away, either fiercely or lightly--every weapon I thought could kill me, I ripped it apart before my eyes.

This is the hallucination of victimization I have always had, and I never understood it before.

You hurt me, and I'll only hurt myself more than you - I kill me, accelerating to destruction.