It.

The urge to self destruct crept into her veins, or so it felt. She had a good few weeks. Three, to be precise. But when she was filling up her pill case earlier that night, she imagined swallowing her handful of blue pills. She imagined how easy that would be.

She lays in bed now, waiting to fall asleep, and her mind went to her wrist.

The cuts are fading away. She wish she could add new ones. Watching blood seep out of the shallow cuts always makes her feel better. It makes her marvel at her body. How there are blood flowing in her, sustaining her.

And the angry red lines on her pale skin always comforts her.

'If only I could hide the cuts,' she thought sadly.

She knows these are signals that her depression is creeping back. So she braced herself, and waited.