Title from the song Hurt by Johnny Cash
One day as she's at some stupid interview with a magazine she can't care less to remember they ask her to describe herself, like she's in second grade all over again with that idiotic teacher that kept asking her to stop playing with her scissors. But she answers them none the less, tell them easily: Ambitious. She's telling the truth of course, she is ambitious, but when she asks herself later on to describe herself in one word, all she can think is; lonely.
She's inexplicably lonely, and she lives off of this loneliness, her own addiction, her own disease; not truly something she wants to live with, but something she's unwilling to let go of, like it's this safety blanket, something that stops her from getting hurt, something that stops her from ever truly and totally trusting someone and letting someone in completely, stops her from exposing all her scars to some stranger that'll only get hurt.
It's a lot safer to be lonely, a lot easier to control. It makes people stay, where, had she opened herself up, they would have run as fast as they possibly can. This way she can make people stay without having to feel sad or sorry about it, this way nobody will ever have to see the truly bad things in her, see her monsters. And if she's the only one that knows about them, she's the only one with the right to truly hate herself for what she is.
She believes it's better to isolate herself, to hide that big ugly monster she's harboring inside. It's better to be lonely and die alone than to burden others with that darkness and hate that's flowing around in her veins and creeping just beneath her skin.
And she dies alone, with no true friends or loved ones.
She can see that death looming in her future like a grim omen, a symbol for all she has lost and all she will lose, and she realizes that she doesn't want that, doesn't want to die alone like a coward. She wants to die fighting, fighting for love; for the love she's been throwing and pushing away for years, the loved one's she'll never meet because she's too scared that, when she does, she's going to hurt them. Hurt them with her darkness and her past, her heart and her rage.
She's so scared that they will run away when they see who she truly is, but she's even more scared that, when they see her, they'll stay, and she'll eat their souls out with her love, because her love burns, it's beautifully destructive and painful and she's barely kept on living with it inside of her, and they won't be strong enough to feel it, to live with it, and her love will destroy them, kill them, burn them out until they're only a shell of what they were before.
They'll burn out and she'll stand there watching, unable to do anything as she silently destroys them, unable to do anything as the love that killed them still crawls inside of her, the love that she wished will only destroy her as well, will kill her instead of making her feel it burn inside of her. She'll stand there hoping and begging for death.
Then she'll truly die alone, with the corpses of the people she once loved littered around her, and she'll wonder if it was all worth it, if those moments of pure blissful joy and love was worth their souls and their lives.
Perhaps it's better if she dies alone, dies as a coward. Perhaps they will be better off without her. Perhaps she's better off being lonely, better off only being ambitious.