I sat on the rim of the bathtub, watching the water go down. I got dressed, pulling on my black hoodie, tying rope, (not meant to be used as a belt), tightly around my waist. It's purpose, to make my skinny jeans look even skinnier. It hurt my stomach, bruising my pale skin at once. I didn't mind. At this point, I didn't care how I looked, but the restraint felt good.

I opened a drawer, opening a bottle of black nail polish, messily dying my nails, along with my fingertips, the dark shade. I brought the drying liquid closer, setting my chin on my hand in a way that it was impossible for me to avoid smelling the intoxicating stench.

Breathing in. Breathing out.

Inhaling... Inhaling.

I put the polish away, finding a onyx bow and sticking it in to my hair. The pin jabbed my skull, but I let it rest there, pulling my hair tightly... Roughly... I lit a match, lighting the tips of my light hair. The strands turned black, the match I was holding burned down to my fingertips, making me drop it immediately. Sighing, I pulled my hair back put of my face.

I got out my makeup, adding dark mascara and eyeshadow, overlapping the already dark circles under my eyes. I can't sleep. The sounds of my fighting parents invading my state of slumber. I looked at the bathtub again, spotting a razor. It was new, never used. I picked it up, examining the small hint of hair on my wrist. No. I would not cut. Not again. I put it down, taking the rubber band out of my hair and putting it around my wrist. My therapist told me to do this. She said it was a coping mechanism. I pulled at the rubber band, watching as it rebounded, slapping my wrist. I smiled as I did it again, watching my wrist begin to swell.

Everyone asked why I would self inflict, but as my parents began yelling again, throwing things during their fights, I wondered if it really was; self inflicted.