Dustin looks at her. Shaking his head. "No. It isn't different. I can't understand what you won't tell me Rose." He says softly. "You need food. You don't have to want it to need it." he looks at her when she looked at him. He frowns as she talked. "Just cuts." he says simply. He didn't want to tell her the truth. She would hate him...right? Hate him like everyone else. Stop talking to him and look at him like he was a suicidal freak. He wasn't suicidal. He had to rationalize things. He didn't know how else to do it. He had done the cutting for so long now. He hesitated even though she wasn't aggressive with him. "Yes. It is wrong. The people who told you that were wrong for doing so. You are naturally beautiful but you are slowly wasting away. Your body will become to weak to support you...you'll live for only so long on mouse nibblings." he says sadly. Looking at her and frowns. "You aren't unsavable. If anything you have more worth and are more worthy of saving than I am."<br/><br/>He frowns and shakes his head. "It isn't wrong...it is how I survive. You wouldn't understand. You don't know the suffering, torment, and pain I went through...I have to rationalize. Pain has to make sense. Emotions don't make sense. Hurt doesn't make sense unless it is physical pain." He had tears in his eyes. A single tear falling down his cheek. "I am not an awesome person. I am less than dirt. I am lower than low. I am not worth anything. I am trash. A brat that is a smudge upon the beauty of this world. You don't know...you have no idea how my life was." Tears slowly trickled their way down his cheeks."You want to know the truth about the cuts on my arms??? I will tell you. You will just hate me afterwards. Everyone hates me. Females hate me. Females scare me." He says in a trembling voice.<br/><br/>"It has become habit. I suffered so much as a child. Barely a year old and already told I am not perfect enough for this world. That I am just a stain upon the beauty of the world. I had an abusive family. Father would physically beat me from the day I turned three years old. Mother verbually abused me. Mentally and emotionally abused me. She screeched such horrible things at me. Laughed when father nearly killed me yet didn't when he would start hitting and hurting me. I am not worth loving. I am not lovable. My own parents didn't love me. No one would believe me either. So much torture. So much torment. I had to learn to cope. I had to learn to rationalize. To find something that actually made sense..."<br/><br/>He trailed off for a moment. Tears trailing down his cheeks. "I was always just an issue. When I learned to say no...that is when the true hell began. I found something that made the abuse, the injuries both internal and external, the mental trauma...make sense. To make it all make sense. I found something that would make the other pains go away. It made things better...even if it was for a short period of time. I started when I was three or four. Just every so often. When the pain was worse than it usually was. When the torment and suffering was worse than it normally was." He was possibly rambling but years of pent up tears and trauma were working there way out of his system.<br/><br/>He was shaking in a visable and violent sort of way. "I just started cutting. Never to kill myself. To feel physical pain. To feel pain that I know why it was there. To have something that made sense of why I was hurting. As the abuse from my parents got worse...I started cutting more and more. Deeper and longer cuts. Still never to kill myself. Not suicidal...I swear I am not. If I was suicidal I wouldn't be here." He says. He was trembling both in voice and in words. He looks at her. "I am not awesome. Mother and Father and everyone else said I wasn't. I missed the rare times my grandmother was allowed to see me. It was because of my grandmother's living will that I am in this school."<br/><br/>He looks at her. "Please don't hate me Rose...I need someone who doesn't hate me. Who doesn't just wish to hurt me in any way possible." The tears trailed so much faster. "A few weeks before my eighteenth birthday...that is when they...when the end of the abuse came. Mother and father were in a verbal altercation. Things got physical between them. I hid in the closet with the wooden slit type doors. They starting hitting and then there was some kind of scream. Everything was a blur but I know father killed mother and then himself. There was two bangs. I have no one. I have never had anyone who cares. I know grandmother is still alive yet I have not seen her since I was very little." He was quivering now.