But the fucked-up part is once you start self-harming, you can never not be a creepy freak, because your whole body is now a scarred and charred battlefield and nobody likes that on a girl, nobody will love that, and so all of us, every one, is screwed, inside and out. Wash, rinse, fucking repeat.

They should tell you, right when you get here, that that part of wishing is over. What we’ve done, no one will love us. Not in a normal way.

There are too many people in my head. I claw at my body to get them out, to peel out the blackness spreading inside me.I’m running blind, ghosts swallowing me.

I’m so unwhole. I don’t know where all the pieces of me are, how to fit them together, how to make them stick. Or if I even can.