"Are you okay?" he asked. 

"No, I'm really not," she began, everything that she had pent up inside starting to break free. "I'm not okay and I've not been okay for a long time, but I thought I could manage, ya know? But I can't. I can't do this anymore. Especially not alone, but I'm to stubborn to accept help from anyone but myself. I walk around preaching about self love, arguing with people who say they are trash or pieces of shit when I feel the same exact way. I'm a hypocrite. I fake the smiles and the laughs and I can pretend all day long. God knows I'd have one hell of an acting career. But the fact is that when I'm alone? I break down. I'll catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I stop and just sort of stare at myself. Not because I'm self centered, but because I can't believe what I've become. I look in the mirror and I'm sickened. I can't stand myself. Not the sight of me, not my voice, not anything. I see this flicker of light in my eyes sometimes, but its so long gone and I don't know how to get it back. I scream at the walls. I cut my wrists. My thighs. My arms. Anywhere I can fit another scar."

"There's these thoughts in my head won't go away. These dark, twisted thoughts that just beg me to do something irreversibly stupid. I often joke about wanting to die. You know that. Everyone knows that. But it's not that I actually want to die. I love life. I love the sunset and the stars. The ocean and the moon. The way the sun feels on my skin. The sound of music. I love all these things and more. No, it's not that I don't want to live it's that I am scared to live. More than anything. It's strange, I know, but it's the truth. I don't want to die. I don't want to live. I want to cease to exist."

"I constantly live in the past because the present confuses me. I'm scared of the future because I'm a thousand percent certain that I'll find a way to screw it up just like I have everything else."

"I'm confused. I hate emotions, but I don't want to cut them off. I hate the feeling that I get of being numb sometimes. I've tried to cut my emotions off and I can't. It's just that I'm so angry all the time. It used to be sad, and now it's just angry. Is it wrong to say that I miss the Sad? I still get sad, but even when I'm sad there's the anger. Sort of like some weird ratio. Sixty-five percent anger and thirty-five percent sad. I'm so afraid to get attatched, but I do it anyway. In reality, I actually have a really kind heart and I have so much love to give, but I push people that I care about because I always feel like such a burden."

"And I'm just tired, you see. Not from lack of sleep - I'm used to that. Not from working all day. Just the sort of tired that you feel in your bones; in your soul. Tired of fighting a battle that, in all reality, I lost so long ago. Tired of pretending that everything is okay when it's not. Do you know what I would give to just be okay for one freaking day?"

"I just need a moment to breathe. 
I need a way to keep myself from turning Some thing in to nothing. 
I could say that I need a way to be the girl that I used to be, but I never even had a chance to get to know myself. I couldn't go back to being that girl now anyway. She wasn't a damaged, emotionally scared piece of shit. After you've been that way for so long it starts to mess with you."

"Do you want to know the real kicker?!" she half screamed, hysterical as she fought back tears. "I HAVE NO REASON TO FEEL LIKE THIS." I have no child hood trauma. My parents never died. I wasn't neglected. I have a place to live. I have food to eat. I have people that love me. I have people that care for me, but it doesn't make what I'm going through any easier. I can't burden them with my problems. They have their own. I'll push them away eventually, I always do. Friends, family, lovers. Doesn't matter. Because I care about them, too. And when I care for someone, I feel that I have to protect them. My biggest threat to them is myself. So yeah, I push them away. No matter how many times it hurts. No, correction. No matter how many times it has hurt. I could name every person who I walked away from. I still lay in bed thinking of them at night. But having so of these things - having all of these people - it doesn't change anything. I wish if did.... But it doesn't."

"I could go on," she said, wiping the hard fought tears from her eyes. "But I don't want to bother you any longer. The answer to your question, simply, is no."