Pain.
That's the only thing that could make her feel better. Not the emotional pain, but the physical kind. Not for a reason one would expect from her.
It didn't start because that's all she ever knew or had a bad life; she grew up decently.
Her biggest reason for harming herself was just that she could control the pain. She knew how deep to cut or how many pills to take. The scars that were left on her body were the ones she placed there for a reason. She knew where they were and what harsh words or thoughts or actions that each mark was from.
They were the only things that she actually liked about her body.
For her, it was either cry herself to sleep at night, wishing she was dead, or cut the pain away. And cutting was the choice she made.
But that feeling of death would never leave her completely. The scars proved that, and they still do.
She lays awake at night when everyone believes that she is sleeping. She cries and cuts away the emotional pain, letting it flow out of her body like the blood that soaks the sheets of her bed.
This is her life now. It is her routine.
