I know that you won’t understand. I don’t think anyone will and that’s okay. I just have to release these thoughts from my mind. I am pretty. That’s what I should believe, right? Well, I don’t. People tell me that I’m not hefty, I’m not big. But can you explain to me why every time I look in the mirror, all I feel is disgust with what I see. Please, help me. I want to see myself as beautiful.

            Why can’t people look into my eyes and see that I am broken? I am drowning in my silence. Although I can’t bear to cut my flesh, I am slashing my soul upon each new thought. These wounds stay uncleansed, untreated, unhealed. They infect me with this lingering animosity, spreading the infection and crumbling the façade. Please, save me. I’m dying inside and I don’t know how to fight off this contamination. Sometimes I think of ending it all.

I really should cut myself open and let the thick, crimson river flow alongside the harsh, black weirs. I wonder what my last thought would be as my mind fades into oblivion. Would worry of my physics grade flood my mind? Would my family flood my mind? Would apologies for my loved ones flood my mind? I think I’d just be happy to be released from the bondage. I wouldn’t worry about the future.  I wouldn’t feel the heartbreak. I wouldn’t hate her. I wouldn’t love him. Because becoming an angel means I’d free from all the things that made me leave. I would be free from it all.

I really shouldn’t after all that’s been invested in me. It would be cruel, selfish. I know I won’t do it because I’m scared it would hurt. Not me, I can take that pain. It’s my mom. She’d be destroyed. She would not only have lost her only daughter, but an old friend as well. My dad, he wouldn’t be able to maintain his strong front. He’d molder from the loss of the laughs and joyful moments. It’s my brother, who wouldn’t have anyone to believe in him unconditionally. My unborn nephew, he wouldn’t know the person I was. My friends wouldn’t have someone to give them mirth and limitless compassion.

            Maybe I should comply with the voices telling me to succumb. At least then, there would be no future to worry about. There wouldn’t be any more pain to endure. It would just be me and that beautiful Angel of Death. I could escape this cruel world that has slaughtered whatever hope I could rally. Maybe I should stop fighting this inevitable end and just accept it. Besides, what has this world done for me? All I’ve gotten out of this cold-blooded universe is anguish and heartbreak. I’m tired of all this grief, all this pain. So I’ll just let go and give myself into the darkness.

            Just as I begin to let my heart crumble into ashes, a new thought sails into my consciousness. If I give up, those voices win. The same voices that told me I would drown. I would give these voices the right to say that they broke me. I won’t let that happen. I will not give them the satisfaction. I will not let them cast me into their condemnation rate. I will not be labeled a statistic. Thus instead of yielding my essence and being another tally, I’ll put one foot in front of the other and push myself down this path and continue my journey.