Little white scars. Very close some very far. Little hurts. Little lies seeped out. At this point it's not even lies anymore. Or the secrets. It's the... numb feeling. The no feeling. The floating. It's the drowning. The feeling of not being able to breath. The falling. Then it's about the pain. How it gives me something to grip. Don't cut don't cut don't cut. Says my Brain. Fuck off. I think right back. I drag the knife across again and again. Making the same little prickles of blood. Again and again. Trixie gonna be mad. Says my brain. Fuck off. I tell it. I really must be going crazy if I'm having conversations with myself. Then I push down harder with the knife. And I cut to punish myself for being mean to myself which in turn is gonna hurt Trixie. And I draw more blood. Then I smile. I try to look happy. I clean the cuts. And I move on with my day. I ignore Trixie question when she asks how I am and instead asks how her day was. I tell my friends, my friends that don't actually know my in really life about it. And they comfort me. They aren't sad. They don't actually care. But they say they do and it makes me feel better.