This self, she has a scarred soul. Because though no one sees it, she can feel the scarlet mark ripped across the depth her consciousness. Where it burns her soul with bitterness as an acid would burn skin. Methodically bubbling and pooling, strong at times, weak at others. But she savors it like a drug, because the pain reminds her of everything she went through. It's intoxicating, this acrid taste on her tongue. It tells this self that though she is the most battered, the most bruised, the most agonized of all her selves, she is also the strongest.

We all have a quote we live by, one that we would swear by if it meant death, yes? Well, this injured self would go to her grave with: "If you love something, let it go." But, maybe this self only let part of the pain go free. Maybe, her all-consuming fury is a caged beast, never getting to fully escape.

Because, at a youthful 13 years of age, she met a young boy. And fell. She was already too wise, too knowledgeable for her few years. Now, this self found herself loving more than she ever knew possible. Too much, maybe.

From the first day of the daunting, intimidating Junior High School, she experienced a strange curiosity. Across the room sat a beautiful blond boy possessing eyes that brimmed with life. She found herself captivated, her focus trained on him like a photographer's lenses on his subject. And this boy, he seemed to connect with this self immediately. So quickly, so powerfully, so intriguingly, that it was as if God himself had willed it.

Perhaps He had.

This young self, she found herself falling like she had any other youthful crush. However, it was legitimate and honest, instinct rather than an overly dramatic obsession.

The boy, he appeared to perceive their electrically-charged emotions too. He held doors for this self, and look deeply into her eyes. He asked her how she was doing. He was disrespectful to most, however he treated her different. Like a queen.

It all seemed right.

Soon, it began to dawn on this self that this was more than a crush. This was simply a case of youthful and innocent first love.

The two were close friends, and the way the self and boy seemed sewn together was like something from a Disney movie.

However, something happened.

And summertime came.

And this self had no real way to talk to him.

Deep inside, this resulted in a slow creep of fear. Could they still be friends after this summer? Her heart was completely dedicated to him. Too much.  She would willingly die for him. But she could lose him.

The next school year came, and everything fell apart. They rarely talked, and they were as distant as mere acquaintances. However, whenever they locked eyes, there was a force so powerful it felt like a physical punch. This self knew that it was as undeniable for both of them as it was unbelievable.

But it didn't matter anyway.

As a good Christian girl should, she decided that she would have to make sure this was God's will- this battle she was waging. This self often found herself thinking, "I can have him AND my faith, right?" But there was always the instantaneous response in the back of her mind, an abrupt: "No." But she was, and is, hard headed. She pushed it away.

As time carried on, she felt as though the boy she cared for beyond anybody (even her friends and parents) was sand slipping through her fingers. And she was helpless.

Her support system was no help either.

Her mother said he was a bad influence. That the self is banned from talking to him. This resulted in a rift becoming deeply rooted into their relationship. To this day, they haven't mentioned it again. Her friends supported her, but knew she was a tragic, hopeless case. They said, "Go for it!" then changed their minds. She was in the darkest part of her youthful life. A dangerous bomb about ready to explode.

Every night she cried for the boy he once was. The friendship they once shared. The "something else" they once shared.

Now he did flirt with her, but it was different. It was profane and nervy, not tasteful. This self felt no joy for it.

The summer came again.

And this self knew the truth.

It was hopeless.

And she had a choice to make.

She could choose her faith. Choose a loving God and dedicate everything to him. Who knows where he would lead her life?

Or.

Or this self could pick this boy. The one who may be toxic now, but may have some hidden innocence left. The one which she had learned so much from. Or so she thought.

But the self understood that if she chose one, she would completely lose the other.

But she didn't want to lose her faith. The only thing she loved more than the boy was God.

So one sunny day, while others frolicked in the beautiful summer breezes, this self found herself locked alone in her room. She lay sprawled on the floor, her childlike heart breaking in two. She was sobbing silently, so as not to cause her parents to hear and worry. This self was begging, praying, and pleading with herself to let go. To move on. She knew without a doubt that she could not get beyond this pile of waste without doing this. She would have to drudge through the milky waters of desperation that surrounded her.

So that's what she did.

She lost all sense of self, all sense of time. It was as if she were in a trance. A couple of hours later, when this self finally had cried out all the emotion possible, she stood. Her body shook in complete exhaustion.

But a miracle had occurred.

As this self stood, she experienced a lightness she hadn't felt for over a year and a half. The oppressive weights her young soul had been burdened with: they were gone. She could finally dance free.

But there was also an added pressure. Because somewhere in the shambles of her spirit, she made a decision. She had lost almost two years of chances. Now, this self would have the tenacity of a champion, the enticing glow of the moon, the focus of a lion. And she would be something. Do something.

And live.

Yet for another couple months, the battle continued to rage in her mind.

The temptation to go back was so terribly strong. Sometimes it felt as if she would collapse under the pressure. Ironically, the worse day was her birthday. Her desperation and loneliness were so unforgiving, all she wanted to do was curl up in a fetal position.

And breathe her last.

But a greater source of strength somehow pushed her through.

And changed her.

And this self found herself living a life of extremes. Everything became black and white. Dark and light. Yes and no.

She now needed to something new to dedicate this refreshing energy to. So she chose her longtime sport: swimming. This self put everything into it.

"You're working incredibly hard," and; "you are a beast," her coaches said. So that's who she chose to become.

A beast.

In everything she did.

Fitness and swimming became her life.

But also, she began working damn hard because of the "black and white" outlook she had on on life. She would feel on top of the world for a minute, but then for a month she would see herself as a failure. This self simply feels not good enough.

So this self works unceasingly, trying to become the best at something. Just one thing.

Because she wasn't even good enough to keep her first love.

Mediocre is no longer a word to her. It's all or nothing. There's no such thing as the "middle."

However, there's one exception. She doesn't know how to handle her anger. Not because anger is anything new to her. She's stubborn, and knows what the definition of rage is by heart.

But her fury is not the usual grenade that she's accustomed to. It's a gradual burning match.

This self doesn't know how to handle her bitterness for the boy she once held so dear. It's mediocre. And that's terrifying.

It's not his fault. Really. He didn't do anything to hurt her. It wasn't his goal to make her fall like she did. But why did he look at her with those blue eyes? Why did he love to make her laugh so? Why did he light up at a single glance of her? Didn't he know what would happen?!

It's his fault.

No it's not.

Unsure and disarmed, this self sits in the terrifying middle, and waits.

Smoldering.

Because this self, she may be a beast. She may have survived a love at an age too young for her own well-being. She may work herself half to death. She may view and experience life in extremes.

But she is a hopeless case.

Useless.

One who has yet to learn to take the blame.