About a year ago I was packing my bag for school. I was excited for the year ahead of me. I had a new way to control my problems. I learned how to purge and feel good. I was happy with my friends. I had left the scissor blade that I created red lines with behind me.
Today, I’m sitting in a mental illness clinic in a gown wondering how everything ended up here. What the hell did I do? How did I do it? I learned I’m not the person I show everyone I am. As I take off layers of self defence, I realise how pathetic and alone I am in front my psychiatrist. I wanted to be happy but today I’m weak. As I scratch my scars that I made a few days before I realised how much I didn’t tell anyone. How much no one understands. And god I know its my fault. I do, I really do. I’m not a hero anymore. I’m a crippled villain. But her only specialty was self-destruction.