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Prologue

Whenever I meet someone my eyes automatically shift from their face to their arms, and I search for the slightest proof of self-injury. When I see none, I envy them. I envy their smooth skin, their ability to wear short sleeves, to not have to hide behind a dozen bracelets or heavy make-up that doesn't cover up enough. 

I hate myself.

This disease is slowly killing me. This illness makes me feel awful and stupid. I hate it. I hate myself. Why can’t I be normal?

Mom would always tell me, “You are special, Kenly. Nobody else is like you.” She was right, nobody else is like me. Everyone is happy to not be me. That’s why I do it. I cut myself. I do it to make me feel better. It works every time.

Chapter One

I never wanted this. I mean, it wasn’t my fault for Pete’s sake! I didn’t deserve this. But yet, as I sit on the edge of my bed in the psych ward, I think I actually do deserve this. All this was brought on from my actions, no one else’s.

I cut myself too deep last night. My brother found me on the bathroom floor barely alive. I had lost three pints of blood. Isn’t that amazing? Three pints! All mine. All of it was my crimson, luscious river of life. Just the thought gives me chills, the good kind, of course.

“Kenly?” said a gentle voice. I looked near my door to see a woman who looked no older than me, wearing the famous white coat, smiling at me.

“Hi,” I said emotionless.

“I need you to complete this test for me. It’s to measure-”

“I know what it is. I’ve already done it when I was here last time,” I said, cutting her off.

“Yes, I have read that in your chart, but I need you to complete one more time.” She smiled.

“Fine.”

We both said nothing for a few minutes until she finally left. Once I was sure she wouldn’t be returning I reached into my bra, and under the pad insert, and I found my little blade I always kept there.

“I could never forget about you, my little friend,” I whispered to the blade.

I quickly pulled my pants down to my knees and then sat on my bed. I took the blade to my right thigh with one quick swipe. There. All better, I thought to myself.

“Everything is alright now. It doesn’t even matter that I’m not getting out for another three months. I don’t care. Everything is a-okay as long as they never find you,” I whispered again.

I’ll finally be okay here.