Sometimes it gets too hard. Too hard for me to pretend that I’m okay. I need an outlet.

“Holly, are you sure you want me-”, Vic said with a worn out journal in his hands.

“I’m sure. I want you to read it.”, Holly looked at him reassuringly in the eye.

“Okay.”

After the first strike it felt better. I didn’t feel as weak.

Vic looked up at her, “First strike? What was the first strike?”

She looked at her arm for a few seconds and pulled the long sleeve back. A tear fell from her cheek onto her arm. Her forearm was covered with red parallel lines. Vic pulled away one of his hands from the journal and lifted her head, then rested it on her neck. She sniffled and said, “Where were we?” His hand retreated to hers and he continued.

I couldn’t take the pain any longer. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I needed to know that I could feel worse. I needed to be able to have an exit. A releasing point.

“What caused the pain?”, Vic asked as he put the journal down and spun the office chair to face her.