Some sick twisted fascination sits in my mind. What does it look like? While staring at the bandage, my hysteria subsides. I’ve stopped crying. All my focus is placed upon the bandage. All my thoughts are wondering what I actually did. Did it really happen? Did I actually go through with it? What did I try to do?

...

About a year ago, maybe two, I met a girl. She was really nice, and I loved talking to her. I loved how we never seemed to run out of things to say. I loved how we never seemed to stop talking, even when it was past curfew. I loved her.

She was my first real crush. A crush I took very seriously. A crush that, when rejected and turned down repeatedly, caused me to hurt inside. The crush that started my problems.

I told her I loved her three times. Three times it took for me to understand no. Three sets of failure.

I didn’t get over her for a year. A year straight.

In that year I lost my confidence. In that year I lost my joy. In that year I realized how worthless I was. She ruined me.