It started with a girl siting in the dark of her room, crouched on the floor in the corner. She scribbled down a list of questions with a two-inch stub of a pencil she discovered in the pocket of her scuffed jeans. All these thoughts raging in her head, bashing against the walls, words of her friends, her family…
“Why do you enjoy hurting me so much?”
Well I wouldn’t exactly call smelling your own burning skin enjoyable, but hey, if it takes the demons away…
In reality, if you ask her why she does something, she suddenly has mixed feelings about the truth. You see, because no matter who we are – boy or girl, fat or skinny, straight or gay, bullied or bully, or anything in-between – we’re all believing some kind of lie. And she’s afraid she’s the source of one or more of those lies.
Miluiel*