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She wasn't afraid of the dark. No, she wasn't afraid of heights. She wasn't even afraid of death. But she was afraid of her mother's harsh words. She was afraid of her boyfriend's angry fists. And she was terrified of the deep wounds that consumed her body.

She never got along with her mother. From the day her dad passed away, she'd been distant. By the time she'd turned fourteen, fighting became routine. From bickering about her choice of style, to kicking her out. They stood no common ground. Not that it bothered her. You'd wonder if she even noticed. She was always high, always angry, always gone. She wanted to get away. She had one escape, her boyfriend. She wasn't focused on anything, but him.

From the outside looking in, he was pure perfection. Tall, built, handsome. People saw them as an idle couple. When they were in public, people always saw how affectionate he was. He always had his hands on her hips, intertwined in her hand, or around her back. No one saw his grip on her hips, hand, or back when she smiled at another guy, or when she took off her jacket. She tried her best to please him. She really did. But it was never enough. He was always so angry. And she couldn't let go of the memories of better times. She wanted more than anything for it to go back like it used to be. No one asked about the bruises on her face. No one asked about her sweat pants, and sweatshirts in the middle of July. No one asked why she was always in tears. No one asked, because no one cared. Finally, he hit her limit. He wanted sex. She wasn't ready. He took something that wasn't his. Something she could never get back. She couldn't breathe anymore. She realized he was taking away who she was. He was destroying her.

She was always strong. Always. But when she lost the only person she cared for to cancer, she gave up. She wanted to be high. She wanted to be drunk. She wanted to be dead. She hated everyone, she hated everything. She took the razor out of her shower, opened it up, and started carving. Once she started, there was no turning back. It became a ritual. Every week, every day, every hour, she opened up her skin. Begging the razor to make her feel alive again. Why was she forced to deal with this pain alone? Her best friend's death, her boyfriend's fists, her mother's words, it was too much. It was all too much. She fell down a path a Pure Self Destruction.

Things have changed a lot since then. She's getting better. She still hasn't learned to deal with her pain in healthy way, but she's still learning.