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I don't know who I am.

I don't know who I want to be.

I don't even know if I can call myself a self-injurer. I could never really put a label on myself. They never fit quite right.

Yes, I cut myself. There are scars where soft skin should be. But... I can't call myself a self-injurer.

When I started, I told myself it was to deal with stress. It was my 16th birthday, it was supposed to be the best day of my life... but it wasn't. I had mountains of homework, a musical show to do, friends that were leaving me and boys that didn't feel the same way I felt about them. Well... a boy.

I told myself it was just for stress.

There were a few scratches here and there. A little red line in the crease of my elbow. Too pathetic to call self-injury. After all, to be a real self-injurer you had to cut yourself deep, really deep, and it had to be across your wrist. Not silly cuts made with safety scissors.

But then, it got out of hand. I was alone a lot of the time, my mind free to wander into dangerous places. Loneliness, depression, suicide. The summer of '09 was the worst summer of my life.

Then school arrived. I thought, this was my chance, a new beginning. Let's keep going forward and don't worry about the past anymore. Auditions for Sweeney Todd were coming up soon. How ironic. This was my chance for people to love me again! If only I could be Mrs. Lovett! Life would be grand and amazing again, the world at my feet, the crowd applauding at my talents.

... but of course, nothing ever works out the way we plan.

The cuts got deeper and deeper. The deepest was the day the cast list went up. To see my name under the chorus instead of Mrs. Lovett was a tragedy. Failure once again, despair creeping in my bones. I thought I was good enough! What makes HER better than ME? How could he cast me in the chorus again, after I spent months practicing? Why, God? If there is a God, WHY? Who could ever love a chorus girl... nobody even pays attention to them.

It was hopeless. Nothing had changed. My hopes and dreams were crushed in an instant.

People tell me, "Gina, you're beautiful, what problems do you ever have?"

Looks have nothing to do with it. Do they not realize how much self-hatred I have for myself? I am selfish, distrusting, shallow, rude, ruthless. My personality is that of a motionless rock. Dull and obsolete. I am not worthy of love, I don't deserve it. Why can't they look past the outside, the facades, the fake smiles? If I am so beautiful, then why do I feel so ugly?

They just don't understand.