Idk what i'm writing tbh.. but enjoyy
It's been weeks.
They think she's getting better
Every morning they would check her wrists for cuts.
She had no scars, they think she lies. But they only check her wrists, never her thighs.
She often wouldn't feel well, so her friends said go to bed, but they would never understand this was a sickness of the head.
She still cuts. Never too deep, never enough to die. But enough to feel the pain.
She's been sleeping a lot lately.
"Sleeping is good. While your sleeping, you don't have to think about how miserable your life is. But then you wake up and there it is all over again. Your miserable life," she repeatedly thought.
She felt sick with anxiety, she wanted to end it all. She wanted this to end.
Something invisible snapped inside of her, she just... fell apart.
She wasn't the same.
She never will be
