You look in to her eyes and you see a swirl of emotions. Love, hopelessness, hatred, but most of all you notice fear. Fear that stems from years of being taught that all the feelings she felt were wrong in the eyes of not just God (she doesn't believe in him anymore), but even her family who is supposed to accept her no mater what. Each fleeting glance, hushed whisper, and unexpected comment makes her rethink her decision to let the world know how she feels.

If only she could learn to accept herself. She knows these feelings are okay, but part of her, unfortunately the stronger part has convinced herself that all these feelings are wrong. She tries to keep her emotions bottled up and secret, but sometimes they just overflow. All those feelings of helplessness, anger, and fear threaten to come out as tears, but she won't have that. She hasn't cried in years, it's definitely a sign of weakness and she is not weak. No she is not weak enough to cry, but those feelings come out anyway as cuts on her arms and legs. Cuts which are deep enough to let her feel temporary relief from the pain that makes her heart ache. Cuts that leave scars whose only purpose is to serve as a reminder of her cowardice

Each scar holds a story begging to be a told to anyone who will listen. The only problem is that those who see her scars are the same ones who choose to ignore them. They accept the excuses, that they are results of her new pet cat or brushes with branches while doing yard work. But deep inside they know there is something wrong, something she is hiding. What they don't know that each scar is her way of reminding herself that maybe if she tries hard enough she can free herself from the judgmental eyes of the world and finally feel all the feelings she's been suppressing.

She was almost free once. It was on a spring day last year. She had had enough and couldn't take the pain anymore. The girl she loved was now someone else's, all because she couldn't gather the courage to tell the world how she really felt about her. It was the perfect plan, if only it had worked.

It had been a few weeks since she had told her how she felt. How she had always loved her, only her, no one else. How she was the only girl she wanted to love for the rest of her life. Things still felt different. Everyday felt like another reminder of her cowardice and unwillingness to face the world. Each time she saw her hold his hand, she felt that familiar pang of jealousy. It was hard, but bearable she told told herself, but deep down she knew she had lost her chance. Each day was becoming harder than the last as she realized she had lost the only person who meant something to her. It was all beginning to become too much. All the self-loathing was taking a toll and she had reached the point of no return. She knew what she had to do to relieve herself from this constant ache.

As soon as she felt the blade cut deep enough, she was on a euphoric high. At first she only felt the cold tile floor as she was entering a blissful sleep, but all of a sudden she felt her arms. The arms of the girl she loved, holding her and saying her name again and again. It felt perfect, like maybe this was what heaven felt like. She heard her say, "I love you" and she wanted to say it back so badly, but nothing was coming out of her mouth. She wanted to tell her girl not to cry, that everything was going to be okay. It was just the beginning of a time when she would finally feel courageous enough to be with her. Suddenly everything went black.

It was only the next morning when she awoke to the sound of machines did she realize that she had failed at her attempt to free herself from the reigns of her fear. She felt so alone and numb. Tears began falling down her cheeks and slowly she was swaying back and forth as sobs wracked her body. Before she could register what was happening, two strong arms were wrapped around her body and she was flooded with the familiar smell of her. Her? What was she doing here? She had chosen him. Didn't that mean that they were over?

What was happening?