...I opened a drawer, I thought that I had emptied it but finally it was still full. On the bottom there were still stuck some photos that shown the abuse of my body. Abuse caused from me and from others. Caused from my insecurities and my obsessions and from the creation of new life. Caused from the pointy objects that penetrated me and from my effort to fulfil my void. Also, inside there was a long piece from a cactus. I tried to catch it, to take it out and throw it, but I got scratched by its thorns so finally I left it there.

...I opened another drawer, I thought it was empty too, but inside I found a little identity photo. Only, except of my face, this one was a photo of my hands. My hands crossed on my knees, as I always kept them, obeying, doing nothing. My hands with which I served people and purposes that I didn't want, obeying, doing what I was told. My hands that I used to hurt others or myself. I tried to take it out and throw it but it was stuck. It was stuck on the bottom of the drawer and it couldn't come out, it had become a part of it.