“Doesn’t it hurt?” they say. “That’s the point”, I reply.
“It’s for attention” they say. “Then why do I hide all the evidence?”, I reply.
What they believe is far from the truth. Why would I want to cut myself for attention? God, that’s almost as bad as the #cut4bieber thing going around. Self harm is an addiction one cannot control at all times. It’s hard not to slash into your own skin when the demons are telling you how much you deserve to.
“Do I deserve to hurt myself?” I ask. “Of course, you’re worthless”, they say.
I have some friends. They’re friends. They don’t always tell me I’m right, actually, majority of the time they tell me how wrong I am, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to when I don’t feel like pushing them all away. That’s why I lack lots of friends. I push everyone that tries to get close to me away. Maybe it’s that I have no trust. Maybe it’s that I have no self confidence. Whatever it is, I have an awfully hard time believing anyone loves me or wants to be my friend. That was, before I met Bret.
I’ve had boyfriends before. A few, at least, but none of them compared once I met Bret Thomas Day. It all started that one day he messaged me on Facebook. He told me I was cute, and that’s when I knew he was something special. You don’t always get a spark like the one we had. We were meant to be, he would be my soulmate. My middle name was his birthstone, his middle name was what my initials stood for. I swore it was love, but was it really?
