I’m scared. I’m scared of the person I see when my reflection is in front of me. I know what she’s capable of and it’s terrifying. I know that if she gets to the point where she can’t take it anymore, She’ll look for an escape. And when she picks up the blade she’ll think of it as one. She’ll bring it to her wrist and she’ll start to cry. Though she probably already was. But instead of the tears being like a light rain they’ll become a tsunami. She’ll slice away thinking she found control of her pain. She’ll cover the scars when she’s done and then ask herself why. Why didn’t she finish the job? Why is she still alive? Why didn’t she bring the knife to her neck instead of her wrist? Why? When she tells herself she has nothing left to live for. I don’t look at my reflection anymore. I don’t want to acknowledge what she’s capable of.