I regretted telling someone.
I regretted even being born.
Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die.
Kill yourself Emma.
You don't deserve help.
They never should've known.
You lied.
No one will ever believe you.
She didn't do anything.
You were basically begging for it.
Get a grip.
They should've left you alone to rot.
Never say anything about it to anyone ever again.
Did it really happen?
Or did you make it up?
I shook my head.
Trying to get the thoughts away.
They didn't.
Like parasites, they clung on.
I needed them out of my head.
So I banged my head against the wall.
The walls shook.
I felt dizzy.
The thoughts were still there.
I wanted to do it again.
No matter what it takes, the thoughts had to get out of my head.
I laughed.
"What a pathetic bitch."
I looked at my reflection.
My face, barely visible, was the one I had gotten used to.
This tired, sad face.
How had so many people fallen for this.
