I stood there, surrounded by a pile of my own blood. I couldn’t take it anymore. The stress from all of my family, so-called “friends”, and school. So I decided to take away some pain. I looked to the mirror. I was tall, with my ginger hair frizzed in a mess. I was broken, more or less. My naked self with my thighs bleeding and a razor in my hand, you would think, ‘wow, that chick is crazy’, or, ‘why would she do that?’ I was a terrible person in general. All I did was eat (which of course, I didn’t want to but was forced), sleep, and hurt myself. I had scars all over my body. Some were from childhood memories, back when it was all fine. All of my ‘self-harm’ scars were over my wrists and thighs, where no one could see. It was a perfect plan. Hurt myself now, pay the price later. If, of course, I lived that long.