Dear Cutter Girl,
Every Tuesday, I would see the pain behind your eyes. As you sat, trying your hardest to blend in, I could see you using your smile as a weapon to hide your tears.
Regret would flash across your face whenever you would speak. Second guessing everyone and everything.
You’ve been covering up your battle for a while now, and you think you have it figured out. Think you’re another manic depressive pixie girl slowly coming about.
But that’s not true.
You’re more than your scars.
You’re more than your depression.
You’re cautiously, recklessly fighting the abyss.
And you’re winning.