My mind often wonders what my life, my friends lives, would be like if I had chosen that I was good enough. If I hadn't marked my skin with bloody small slits, one for each tear that I had shed.
It wonders what that would change today, would I have a better attitude? Would I not be close to him like I am? Would I have never started to write? There are so many possibilities that cross my mind and these possibilities are normally more okay then what had actually happened. I do regret what I had done, but without that I wouldn't be who I am.