Prologue
She paints a lovely picture,
but this story has a twist;
Her paintbrush is a razor,
and her canvas is her wrist.
- Amy Efaw
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When you look at me, you see a normal girl. Black hair and brown eyes, slim figure, and average height. You would probably guess that I do pretty good in school. You would be right. You would also probably guess that I'm pretty nice. You would also be right. Lastly, you would guess that I don't do anything too unusual and wrong. You would guess that my life is okay and I'm not going through anything too bad.
Well, guess what? Looks can be deceiving.
Let's say you take a closer look at me. You would see the faint dark circles under my eyes from my sleepless nights. You would see my pale skin from all the scary things I've seen. If you had good observation skills, you would also see that I always wear long-sleeved shirts and long pants.
You would probably think nothing of me even if you noticed all these things. You would probably think that I've probably been having some bad days. Or maybe that I just have some boyfriend problems.
No, the truth is that I haven't just been having some bad days. That doesn't even touch it. My life has been the reason for all those characteristics. Dark circles? Well, I never sleep. I try but every time I close my eyes for too long I see, that night. Pale skin? I have seen things too scary to imagine, and worse. Long clothes? I cut myself.
Why, you may ask? Escape.
That is the only way. All the dark things that have happened roam in my head. They make me suffer. When I make myself feel physical pain, I escape. I escape from the memories and the hurt that comes with them.
Moral: Don't judge a book by it's cover.