what I realised was that no boy was ever worth my tears, or worth the blood I drew from my wrist after I felt the pain. The pain after he told me he found someone else who must have made him happier than I could have ever imagined happy was. And I thought. Bless my heart that I would never find someone to love me the way I thought he did and adore me the way I thought he did. Now believe me no one quite has yet but I am no where near as sad and as isolated as I felt that night I say on my bed or the days after where I would slit my wrists in the bathtub and mourn afterwards and cry myself asleep thinking no one would ever look at me the same. Things get better. My down days occur when I let them and self harming may forever be in my life but it’s no longer in control. I am.
