She kills me. Or more so uses my mind until I can’t take any more. She kicks me so far down a hole, I believe that light is just a dream. She makes me wish you were dead because anything is better than the pain she causes. She is worse than the angel of death. She takes me to the edge and she has me thinking it’s finally over, and then yanks me back because I have to suffer to win the war. She is the monster, the monster that’s been tearing me up for years. She not only attacks me, but teens and people everywhere. She preys on the weak and fears the strong. She knocks down my self-confidence and self- worth. She disguises herself as razor blades, as a knife, as a lighter. She makes me believe that she’s the solution, when really, she’s the problem. Nobody wants to talk about her because she’s “scary” or “wrong” or “controversial.” The only way to make her disappear is to raise your voice.

The first night we met, she was like a friend you know is going to be a bad influence, but you hang out with them anyway. She pestered me every day like a little sister or brother. She mad promises of sheer bliss. She promised I would be amazed that something so beautiful and pure could come out of someone so broken. I ignored her for what seemed like forever. Finally, my last straw broke and I gave into her wants and my needs. I sat in the bathroom with my back press to the side of the cool bathtub. The cool metal kissed my thigh and I watched the crimson flow. The beauty of the pure red brought joy I hadn’t felt in months. I laughed and made line after line. The endorphin high only lasted so long until I felt worse than before. The process became a nightly affair and carried on for months. Finally, someone caught me. I “promised” I would stop, but “crossies” don’t count.
I cut back on the nightly rituals. Listening to heavier music distracted me. I scratched the healing wounds. I tried to stop. My longest “clean” period lasted 2 days. I dove in volleyball and feared being outed. I was afraid to break open the lines. After practice, I’d go home, hoping to feel better. The scene I arrived home to only made it worse. Watching my mother hate herself on the inside and then pawn it off on me only escalated the stress. I began to fear home more than school. Every night, the cuts got deeper, wider, or more scarred. My heart was being ripped in two. I was losing the little bit of sanity I had left. The monster took me to the cliff and I was all ready to jump. I duck the razor in harder, deeper, and cut more lines than I ever had before. I had written my note. I called my grandma and said goodbye instead of just our usual goodnight. I thought the bleeding would be enough this time. 

Whoever finds me,

I’m sorry you found me at my weakest. I’m sorry that I couldn’t fight any longer. I’m sorry I pretended to be okay. I failed you as a friend, a daughter, and a person. Nobody understood me. Nobody believed someone like me was broken like this. I love you all. I couldn’t love myself. Remember the good times, and not the bad. This feels like the only way out. Goodbye.

Before I could let the dizziness take me away, my knight in shining armor, my prince charming, my redeemer and best friend, called. I tried to ignore him, but that didn’t fly. Alex knew me too well. He didn’t have to ask. He kept me awake. He kept me calm. He stopped my tears. He told me how much he loved me and promised me forever. For that night, I was safe. I believed that he would be my savior from my living h*ll. I reciprocated his love, because that’s all I wanted was to be loved unconditionally. Alex sheltered my heart in roses, but I was too naïve to see the thorns. All I could see was the beauty of the flowering buds. Alex brought me more happiness than the monster. The sweet aroma of the blooming flowers had sent her into a deep sleep. Alex was everything and he watered the roses to keep her away. I couldn’t afford to lose him. The more I became dependent on him, the less the roses got watered. The flowers began to wilt and the thorns dug in hard.  When the petals all fell, I was left with a maze of thorns surrounding my being.

I fell back into my hole this time with no light to be seen. I cried. That was rock bottom. Sometimes to go up, you have to be down. To get better, I had to do it myself. Alex couldn’t get the job done, and he was the strongest person I knew. The only person I had was myself. To get better, I had to take care of the weeds in my life.

I stopped talking to and seeing my mom. She could no longer blame me for her deep self- loathing. This helped tremendously. I began to see myself as a more beautiful human being. There was nobody to shove me into my hole. I began a new job with people who had no clue who I was. I got a fresh start. I promised myself I would be outgoing and I would make a change. I interacted with everyone. Nobody knew me or my past. I spent more time with my dad, I let life happen and stopped bringing myself down. Through the process, the monster disappeared, and the happiness came back. The self-loathing dissipated. My scars began to fade. I learned to become my own hero.

I fought my way out of the pit. The monster’s lair was in the rearview mirror. I drowned her. It was my turn to win. I took her to the edge and threw her off the cliff. She tried to claw her way back in. The monster almost convinced me I needed her. I fought harder. I knew my future was blossoming more than Alex’s roses ever did. Sometimes at night, she’d catch me off guard, but I fought. She won once or twice, but the happier I got, the less she tried. My razors were flushed down the toilet like your dead goldfish from childhood. I deleted the music. I turned myself around because aren’t we all imperfect in so many ways? The last battle she won was in April. It’s October now, and the battles are all mine. I know the war isn’t over. For now, the victory is mine. My heart is being put back together. My scars have begun to fade.

I live without fear of the future. The best part of this is that the self-loathing is gone. Loving yourself is the basis to any healthy relationship in life. Being my own hero is the best thing I’ve done. Victory is mine.