Prolog

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Fuck

The only word I could even proses as I make a violent slice in my arm, tears streaming down my face into the bleeding wounds, causing them to burn even more.

Fuck

Another cut, deeper than before, but still not deep enough. I had decided long ago when I had begun this cycle that my parents and therapist would never know. Anxiety was all I had, I didn't want another label forced on to me, especially not the one that held the greatest negative connotation, depression.

Fuck

The last thing I thought in front of the sink, looking in the mirror, and seeing nothing but a broken man before me. I washed off the blood and bandaged the scars, carefully placing my sleeves so you couldn't see the horrifying damage done to my skin.

Fuck

The only thing I thought when I went into therapy, and was told without warning I was being transferred to group. The reason was hazy, something about getting over my social anxiety. No matter what, I know this won't be the last time I think that word again.

Fuck

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