Alone.

That's what you are. That's what you have been. And what you'll always be, She laughed bitterly. Quite frankly I was. I was sitting in the dark corner in the back of my closet, covered by the long dresses I had hanging back there. 

I loved the dark. I couldn't see the shadows in the dark. I couldn't see them reach for my face, or run the long, spindly fingers across my scars. 

I hated my scars. 

No you don't, She laughed again. You love them. You love making them, you love seeing the blood run down your arm, you love wiping the-

Shut up! I screamed at her, pulling at my short hair as if I could pull her out of my head. But I couldn't. 

She made me do it. She made me cut. She taunts me, She yells at me, screaming and insulting. She told me how crazy I was. But it's not my fault. Its Hers. 

Go look in the mirror. You're ugly. Go see. Go see what everybody else has to look at as long as you're alive.

 No. I don't want to. I like my dark place. The mirror scares me anyways. That's where I see Her. 

You're scared of yourself, aren't you? Scared of how ugly you are. You're ugly, you know? In fact, you're the ugliest-

Shutupshutupshutup-

-PERSON I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE! YOU SHOULD SAVE THE WORLD THE TROUBLE AND GET RID OF YOURSELF! JUST DIE ALREA-

SHUT UP! GO AWAY! SHUT UP!

Tears were already streaming down my face, and I was nearly suffocating on the sobs that were catching in my throat. Defeated, I pulled myself up and out of my closet. 

She's right. I am ugly. My skin is too pale, and covered in acne; my eyebrows too dark, too high; my lips too red, too chapped; my nose too big, too oily; my hair too short, too dark; my neck too long, my wrists too scarred, my demons too mean, the voices to loud, the blade too sharp, Her laughter too bitter,

my blood too red. 

I'm bleeding again. Staring at what I've done, my tears drop onto my arm. I look up and the mirror is broken, a piece of it held in my hand. 

I barely have the sense to cry out as I fall to the floor.

My last conscious thoughts were of Her laughter, of Her victorious cry, of Her last word. 

Finally.

~~~

TWO YEARS LATER

~~~

MY BLOG:

After my mental breakdown and what they considered to be a suicide attempt, I was put on some antidepressants and antipsychotics, and now I'm feeling much better. 

I also have a therapy dog, Ivy, who sits here contentedly wagging his tail as I type this out.

Telling my story has helped a lot. It's quite liberating, in fact. It helps to talk, so as a shout-out to all of my wonderful followers, I'm here when you need me, just know you're not alone.

With love,

Ivy & Eve <3