I sat on my bed crying. I frequently asked myself “Why me. Why am I the one who always cry? Why does nobody care? Why am I alive? I wish I was dead!”

That night those thoughts flew through my head. I sat on my bed, leaning over, placing my head on my knees. When I rose my pants were soaked with raining tears. I scratched at my legs. Grinding my nails up the sides leaving white marks where my fingers left trails. I ran across my room and searched for the hiding spot. I whipped out a pack of matches and a hair pin that was laying around. I unbent the clip and lit the match. I placed the clip over the fire and watched the flames dance and spark to the metal against it. I shoved the blanket in my mouth to scream into and pressed the clip on to my wrist over and over again leaving red scars. I let out my breath when I was finished. I counted each line, each memory when I was hurt. I knew I was scarred for life. Not by the marks on my arm but from the memories that would never escape my mind.