0. Prologue (Redrafted)

Oh wow, this is such a late reply sorry! I had your review saved on my laptop all this time I just forgot about it and now you've changed so much O_O Anyways, for the most part it looks similar, so I'll just post what I've already got. Hopefully it can still help!

I have to agree with Kafka about the catagoration so far. It just seems very out of place. So far it seems like there are three parts- the part where she meets Michael, the part where we find out she’s in the hospital after trying to commit suicide, and the part where you give us background about her life and some insight on how she’s gotten herself into this mess. I’m kind of at a loss of how to say this, but for some reason I think the two chapters should be switched. Then again, what you had in your prologue is really what captured me in the first place; I’m not sure if putting up this chapter in its place will have the same effect. Hmm.
Also, I thought the transition from her lying in the bed to her telling us about her past was jarring. I really think you should’ve spent more time explaining the scene, what Sophie felt, without giving away too many detail. What she observed; I like how you explained how her family was handling this. More stuff like that. It’ll keep us hooked. Then maybe in the next chapter you can start feeding us info about her past. Well, that’s just what I think. I haven’t even read the second chapter though, so I don’t have much room to talk.
Even though I’m a bit confuzzled about the order, I love each separate part very very much in it’s own way.
Thanks for the great read.

Hey Amie
Truth here as requested!
The others above have already made amazing reviews, so excuse me if I've got no nitpicks for you.
You did an amazing job of re-editing, so keep up the good work! I'll go check chapter one now

-Truth-

I really liked this story, it was moving and emotional. I can't wait to see how this ends up with the rest of the book. It sounds great.

Hi there! I thought I’d post my thoughts on the prologue so you have something to read through while I finish reviewing the later chapters

First thoughts are that it starts off slowly and I wasn’t a fan of the first few paragraphs but further along, the quality of the writing picked up and you really got into the mind of the persona. There was a slight deterioration at the end when I felt you went too far with the cutting and the drowning on top of the pills. You need to do some research. People who’ve over dosed do not have the strength to cut and drown themselves and certainly wouldn’t survive if they did somehow manage it. Over-dosing is admittedly a slow death but one that quickly becomes painful and quickly starts to shut the body down making it difficult to even move. I don’t claim to be an expert on it but before you write on the subject, you should really hit the books and read reports from those who’ve survived over-doses, read medical sites etc.

Here’s some line by line comments next:

The day began like no other. I had woken up in bed with another man. [While technically correct, this would read better as, ‘I woke up with another man in my bed.’ Also, another man is a little vague and doesn’t give the reader much information. Maybe stranger or, ‘I woke up and turned to face my lover’. Just some sort of indication of who he is.] I’d begun dreaming about my escape from the hell that had become my life. I was leaving Ben - for good - and it seemed as though everything was going to work out great for once.

As it is, perfection and dreams don’t exist in our reality and luckily - I guess - I dodged a bullet just in time to beg Ben for his forgiveness. I may not know a lot of things and I may not have learned anything valuable during our relationship, but what I did know for sure was that Ben was my constant and no matter how much we hurt each other, we’d always be there in the end. I could rely on him to be that if nothing else.

That night we were out in town for our friend, Rachel’s, birthday. [You’re skipping around too much. One moment you’re telling us about the morning, then some realisation that happens in the future and now it’s ‘that night’. There needs to be more chronology going on.] I knew that Ben wasn’t in the greatest of moods, and I knew that drinking would probably make that worse, but it was better than being alone. At around 1AM, Ben disappeared. I was used to him walking out on me, but never when we were with friends, with them he was the nice Ben that I fell in love with, the Ben that never truly existed.

“Oh, Ben.” She said, breathlessly

I automatically went into a rage that I couldn’t control, and I suppose for a split second I felt the way he did when he was hitting me. In my head I was shouting at myself now too, hypocritical, two-faced, double standards charlatan. Everything I hated him for, everything I was angry and upset about, they were the very things I could see reflected on myself. I hated him more for that now, for showing me what I had become too.

The girl ran off when she seen saw him change. He suddenly went from this cool sexy guy, into a terrifying monster. He pushed me away from him as I tried to grapple onto his arms and when I didn’t stop trying to hurt him, he clenched his hand into a fist and punched me.

I didn’t consider going to the hospital. My broken nose meant nothing now. Soon, I’d make that pain disappear; I’d make all the pain disappear. I was lucky in a way because I had enough pills in the flat to do it. I’d only gotten the pills a week before off the doctor to help me sleep; the nightmares had become too real, reflecting my reality; I couldn’t even escape in my dreams anymore.

You were always there, I wrote, you never judged, you never asked and you never pushed. You were just there. I want you to know that I was wrong, and that it was you that was my constant and I just never realised it until it was too late. I’m sorry. And I clicked send and turned off my phone.

So. Here I am again.

Since I haven't read chapter two yet, all this is going to be based solely on what I have read thus far, meaning this and the prologue. Keep that in mind.

But since there is a chapter two, I'm guessing you're going to go back and tell me the background information. How she came to meet Ben. What happened to that guy in the prologue. All that stuff.

But again, I have a small problem with the categorization. Personally, I think this is more of a prologue than the piece you actually called your prologue is. It meets all the prologue requirements - it makes the reader think, it brings the reader in, and its meaning is increased as the story moves along. But this is not as apparent with the current prologue. So I would switch them - make this the prologue and the scene with the bridge and everything chapter one.

I also found numerous grammatical errors in this chapter. I'd give it a thorough readthrough and correct anything you find. Go slow, so that you don't skim over anything.

Hope this helped!

-Kafka

Hello there, I'm here for a review as requested.

I'll begin with the nipticks, and then go on with my overall impression. In bold are the comments, in red, the corrections.

amiemalamie wrote:For the Prologue click here

August 16th 2011.
(Two years later.)

It was sort of peculiar looking at myself lay so still and quiet on the metal, white-sheeted bed. I liked that I couldn’t smell the disinfectant but in a way it made this whole thing even more surreal. I knew that what I was seeing was real; the reality of it all was that my body was struggling to survive. My rib cage barely even moved as the machine was breathing for me, so much so that if you weren’t paying enough attention comma you’d think that I wasn’t breathing at all. I don't believe breathed is a word...

My arms layed at my sides brandishing my self-inflicted wounds for all to see, for all to judge. I watched as my mother traced her fingertips along the thin red lines as the tears rolled silently down her cheeks. It was then that it dawned on me. My mother wasn’t judging me as I’m sure many people hadn’t before her. She felt nothing other than pain and fear. She didn’t look at my scars and think that I deserved them or that they defined me Period. She saw me, her daughter, a young woman who lost her way for a while comma that’s all.

I spent so long being consumed by the way I thought people perceived me and I allowed that to control almost everything I did and everything that I was. Too afraid to be judged comma I put myself on the outside and I wouldn’t let anyone in Period. I wouldn’t let anyone past the façade because I was sure no one could ever understand.

I should have been humbled by the fact that she’d stay with me in the hospital every day and night as my body tried desperately to hold onto life. But I didn’t. I honestly couldn’t find it in myself to feel that way because I was to blame for it all. I was the one who had caused this, the one who did this. I didn’t deserve to have her at my side comma still caring for me.

My father would come and go, trying to maintain some kind of regular life comma away from me comma so that things didn’t become too obscure. There were bills to pay and my younger sister to care for, and my father had always been the practical minded one in the marriage. It didn’t mean that he cared any less comma of course. He was just trying to be strong for everyone, the way he’d always been.

At night when he sat alone in the family home, when my sister’s cried until exhaustion took over, he sat in my old bedroom and cried. They’re always angry and passionate tears that he can’t control once he’s let them out. He cried all night comma missing his sleep. Then he stoped sort of sudden, washing, dressing, to begin another day. I’d always thought that he was made from some kind of steal that couldn’t be penetrated. I should never have taken his strength for granted. Especially now I know how much that outer strength kills him inside. Be careful with the verb tenses! You switch from present to past, it's confusing. Keep it in past.

Today is August 16th 2011. It’s a Tuesday. It’s my birthday. I’m 22 years old; I’ve barely even begun to live my life. I had always assumed that 21 would be the greatest year of my life. That’s the age most people seem to recall, the age that has the greatest memories. For me it was the toughest year. The year I wished had never happened. The year that was full of regrets, of pain, and of heartache. Ultimately, 21 should have been the age of my death but I couldn’t even get that right.

It’s been three days since I was rushed into hospital. Three days since my boyfriend hit me for the last time. Three days since I somehow managed to escape death.

From the beginning comma the day was like no other. I had woken up in bed with another man. I’d begun dreaming about my escape from the hell that had become my life. I was leaving Ben, for good and it seemed as though everything was going to work out great for once.

As it is, perfection and dreams don’t exist in our reality and luckily - I guess - I dodged a bullet just in time to beg Ben for his forgiveness. I may not know a lot of things and I may not have learned anything valuable during our relationship comma but what I did know for sure was that Ben was my constant and no matter how much we hurt each other, we’ll always be there in the end. I could rely on him to be that if nothing else.

That night we were out in town for our friend comma Rachel’s comma birthday. I knew that Ben wasn’t in the greatest of moods, and I knew that a drink would probably make that worst but it was better than being alone. At around 1AM, Ben disappeared, I looked around everywhere in the club for him but he wasn’t anywhere. I was used to him walking out on me, but never when we were with friends, with them he was the nice Ben that I fell in love with, the Ben that never truly existed.

Outside the club there was a queue of people waiting to get in. Young girls stumbled about on the cobbles as a group of guys ran passed comma lifting their skirts as they did so. I walked down the cobbles outside the club still searching for Ben and I noticed a dark alley down the side.

I could barely see a thing down there until an exit sign illuminated a couple that were pressed up against the wall. From what I could see comma a girl was pressed up on the wall with her leg yanked up as the guy grunted as he thrust up against her.

That’s so disgusting, I thought as I turned to walk away, Slut. I was almost out of the alleyway when I heard her moan loudly.

“Oh, Ben.” She said.

I froze. No, no way. There’s absolutely no way that he would… it can’t be, not MY Ben. I didn’t give myself time to think about it before I turned and stomped my way back toward them.

“Ben?” I yelled. He obviously recognised my voice because he stopped straight away. “Ben. What are you - How could you? You bastard!” He pulled away from the girl and quickly tried to do-up his pants. “You son of bitch.” I was crying now, unable to control what I was doing and saying.

I automatically went into this rage that I couldn’t control and I guess for a split second I felt the way he did when he was hitting me. The girl ran off when she seen him change. He went from this cool sexy guy into a terrifying monster. He pushed me away from him as I tried to grapple onto his arms and when I didn’t stop trying to hurt him comma he punched me.

It’s a bit of a blur how it felt. All I really remember is stumbling backwards and hitting my head on the wall as I fell to the floor. The pain ripped through my face and the blood trickled down onto my lips. He didn’t even second glance me as he left me alone in the alley.

I made a snap decision not to feel sorry for myself. I had to pick myself up again; I had to get on with things because no one was going to do it for me. This time was different from the last. This time I decided to change things, I decided to make my escape even if there was only one way that I could do it.

I didn’t worry about anyone following me home; I was sure that they wouldn’t even notice that I was gone. I was aware of how I’d managed to surround myself by people who didn’t really care much about me. They’d stay out drinking and he’d stay out drinking and no one would get in my way.

I didn’t consider going to the hospital. My broken nose meant nothing now. Soon comma I’d make that pain disappear; I’d make all the pain disappear. I was lucky in a way because I had enough pills in the flat to do it. I’d only gotten them a week before off the doctor to help me sleep; the nightmares were killing me.

Once I got home comma I lit a stick of cinnamon incense to mask the smell of the blood. I drew a bath and then I went into the kitchen and took out the Vodka and the pills. I slumped down on the sofa and stared at the old digital clock that hung cockeyed on the wall. I’d made an exact plan on my way home and it didn’t start for another five minutes.

I threw my head back with the bottle and took a deep swig. Thankfully the blood didn’t take the sting away from the taste as it hit me at the back of the throat; I needed to feel something other than pain.

My body shuddered as I methodically laid out the tablets on the table. I took particular care in arranging them along the circular shape of the coffee stain, which brought back painful memories. The pills hid the stain; they made it disappear. And I knew that even when I took the pills and the stain reappeared, that it wouldn’t be long until the memory that went with it would disappear too.

As the seconds counted down comma I knew it was almost time. At 3:29:55 I picked up the first pill and placed it on my tongue. I waited for the seconds to turn exactly to 3:30:00 and I swallowed; my countdown had begun.

The pill felt rough and dry as it scraped along my throat. Half the bottle of Vodka remained, which I was sure would be enough to have one quick sip for every pill. I waited for every exact minute to arrive and as each minute passed the clearer the coffee stain became.

As the clock reached 3:15 I took another pill and picked up my phone. There were so many things I wanted to say to so many people but I couldn’t bring myself to write anything down. I knew it wouldn’t matter, whatever I said comma because I would have killed myself and those last words I said would have more meaning than what I want them to have.

There was one person that I had to text that I had to explain things to. I didn’t think he’d understand what happened between us if I left this way and I wouldn’t want him to think that this was his fault.

You were always there, I wrote, you never judged, you never asked and you never pushed. You were just there, always. I want you to know that I was wrong, and that it was you that my constant and I just never realised it until it was too late. I’m sorry. And I clicked send and turned off my phone.

I ran my fingertips along the scars on my arms and I couldn’t fight the urge to reopen them. I was thrilled by all the control I had in that moment and I couldn’t get enough. I was inflicting the pain, I was controlling these sensations, and I would be the cause of my own death.

My self-harming started not long after I realised that Ben was never going to stop hurting me. It’s silly really, sort of ironic. I’ve asked myself a million times “wasn’t I in enough pain?” “Wasn’t the harm he did to me, physically and mentally, enough for me to take?” I supposed I used it as an outlet of control, my only outlet. And doing it made me feel alive even if it was just for a split second because in that second it was worth it. Besides comma the scars accompanied my bruises and broken bones perfectly.

In a way it became like a drug to me, a tiny escape away from my reality. And I became addicted to doing it. Even when I thought I was feeling a little better comma I would get this sudden surge of depression. It would creep over me like the cold creeps into a warm room. You feel it coming for you and it’s sort of slow but sudden all at the same time and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. I could feel every inch of it as it consumed my existence.

What made it worse was how he’d break my heart every day. It was as though I could feel my heart shattering into thousands of tiny pieces each time he struck me. Every day comma I tried desperately to piece it back together, telling myself that things would change soon. But the truth was that every time my heart shattered comma I lost a piece of it that would never be found comma that could never be fixed. That part of me was slowly disappearing forever.

I stumbled slightly as I stood up and I felt the blood trickling down my arms. I had done it, I had finished every last pill. I could feel that I didn’t have very long left but I was too impatient to wait even for that short while. I clambered into the bath. The water turned red as it diluted my blood.

As I breathed the water in comma I tried counting the seconds, 1…2…3, until the thoughts would stop once and for all, until my heart stopped beating and my blood stopped pumping, 5….6…7…8…, until there was nothing, no thought, no feeling, no breathing, no existing - just nothing.

For chapter two Click Here

Amie. I am here again. This review might be shorter than my other one, since most of everything has been taken care of and pointed out already.

So, I liked this chapter a lot more than I liked the prologue. The style was more refined, and the whole thing was very well-written. You managed to hook me from the start, and it was hard to look away once I had started reading.

I like your character, she seemed real and consistant (for the most part) through the entire chapter, from what I could tell.

The only thing that got me here was that the beginning didn't really seem consistant with the end... I was a bit confused as to what was going on. She's in a hospital bed, but she knows about her family, and then there were the flash-backs. Don't put too much clarification there, because I really do like vagueness, but I think that it could use a bit of something to make what's going on just a bit more clear.

Otherwise, I really enjoyed this and I can't wait to read chapter 2!

~~Ish

This was a very well written first draft of chapter 1. Hardly any flaws to your writing. It was clear and interesting, and I especially love how you seem to be able to describe her very depressing and anguish-filling life. The abusive relationship -it seems very real. I can see you carry so much true talent here in your writing! I found a lot of enjoyment in reading this. The length was just right, and the feelings and thoughts of the character were just miserable enough to seem real and unscripted. I wonder where your inspiration came from. I'm looking forward to this chapter two next. Heading off to review that right now! Overall, very well done. No complaints whatsoever. If there were any things that needed some attention or tweaking, I think your other reviewers may have caught that for you.

Hey Amie,
Here I am for the second chapter.
I have to say, the Prolouge was much better than Chapter One. Maybe because of how unique the bridge thing was, or something else, but I honestly lost a bit of interest reading this chapter.

Here are some nit-picks:

August 16th 2011.
(Two years later.)

It was sort of peculiar looking at myself lay so still and quiet on the metal, white-sheeted bed.

That’s so disgusting, I thought as I turned to walk away, Slut.

“Ben?” I yelled. He obviously recognised my voice because he stopped straight away.

It’s a bit of a blur how it felt.

Not a lot of grammatical errors, honestly. And it seems that the first commenter did just that for me anyway. However, I would like to ask some questions that you should probably think about. Where did Michael go? Was he a one-time character that we won't ever see again? Was he to set up the irony? Or- this is my own question, don't answer and spoil anything!- was he the man that she texted? Why in the world did it upset her that she witnessed Ben's cheating behavior, even though she herself has done it- multiple times, I've insinuated. I'm greatly intrigued by the story line. And wonder if you will elaborate on Ben's history with Sophie. We're seeing the ending, why not the very beginning? I hope you set this up later.

~Panda;;

Once again a great piece to this book, it was really strong and I couldn't take my eyes off the page.
Now I think Imaginemymind got most of the little things that were bugging me so I don't really have more to add.
I do think maybe work on the structure a little more, like join the occassional paragraph to one before or after it so it flows a little better but apart from that an amazing piece again.
I really do look forward to reading more.
Well done!

Hey Amiemalamie, here to review like I promised

It was sort of peculiar looking at myself lay so still and quiet on the metal, white-sheeted bed. I liked that I couldn’t smell the disinfectant but in a way it made this whole thing even more surreal. I knew that what I was seeing was real; the reality of it all was that my body was struggling to survive. My rib cage barely even moved as the machine breathed for me, so much so that if you weren’t paying enough attention you’d think that I wasn’t breathing at all.

My arms lay at my sides brandishing my self-inflicted wounds for all to see, for all to judge. I watched as my mother traced her fingertips along the thin red lines as the tears rolled silently down her cheeks. It was then that it dawned on me. My mother wasn’t judging me as I’m sure many people hadn’t before her. She felt nothing other than pain and fear. She didn’t look at my scars and think that I deserved them or that they defined me, she saw me, her daughter, a young woman who lost her way for a while that’s all.

I spent so long being consumed by the way I thought people perceived me and I allowed that to control almost everything I did and everything that I was. Too afraid to be judged I put myself on the outside and I wouldn’t let anyone in, I wouldn’t let anyone past the façade because I was sure no one could ever understand.

I should have been humbled by the fact that she’d stay with me in the hospital every day and night as my body tried desperately to hold onto life. But I didn’t. I honestly couldn’t find it in myself to feel that way because I was to blame for it all. I was the one who had caused this, the one who did this. I didn’t deserve to have her at my side still caring for me.

My father would come and go, trying to maintain some kind of regular life away from me so that things didn’t become too obscure. There were bills to pay and my younger sister to care for, and my father had always been the practical minded one in the marriage. It didn’t mean that he cared any less of course. He was just trying to be strong for everyone, the way he’d always been.

At night when he sits alone in the family home, when my sister’s cried until exhaustion takes over, he sits in my old bedroom and cries. They’re always angry and passionate tears that he can’t control once he’s let them out. He cries all night missing his sleep. Then he stops sort of sudden, washes, dresses, and begins another day. I’d always thought that he was made from some kind of steal that couldn’t be penetrated. I should never have taken his strength for granted. Especially now I know how much that outer strength kills him inside.

Today is August 16th 2011. It’s a Tuesday. It’s my birthday. I’m 22 years old; I’ve barely even begun to live my life. I had always assumed that 21 would be the greatest year of my life. That’s the age most people seem to recall, the age that has the greatest memories. For me it was the toughest year. The year I wish had never happened. The year that was full of regrets, of pain, and of heartache. Ultimately, 21 should have been the age of my death but I couldn’t even get that right.
It’s been three days since I was rushed into hospital. Three days since my boyfriend hit me for the last time. Three days since I somehow managed to escape death.

From the beginning the day was like no other. I had woken up in bed with another man. I’d begun dreaming about my escape from the hell that had become my life. I was leaving Ben, for good and it seemed as though everything was going to work out great for once.

As it is, perfection and dreams don’t exist in our reality and luckily - I guess - I dodged a bullet just in time to beg Ben for his forgiveness. I may not know a lot of things and I may not have learnt anything valuable during our relationship but what I did know for sure was that Ben was my constant and no matter how much we hurt each other, we’ll always be there in the end. I could rely on him to be that if nothing else.

That night we were out in town for our friend Rachel’s birthday. I knew that Ben wasn’t in the greatest of moods, and I knew that drink would probably make that worse but it was better than being alone. At around 1AM, Ben disappeared, I looked around everywhere in the club for him but he wasn’t anywhere. I was used to him walking out on me, but never when we were with friends, with them he was the nice Ben that I fell in love with, the Ben that never truly existed.

Outside the club there was a queue of people waiting to get in. Young girls stumbled about on the cobbles as a group of guys ran passed lifting their skirts as they did so. I walked down the cobbles outside the club still searching for Ben and I noticed a dark alley down the side.

I could barely see a thing down there until an exit sign illuminated a couple that were pressed up against the wall. From what I could see a girl was pressed up on the wall with her leg yanked up as the guy grunted as he thrust up against her.

That’s so disgusting, I thought as I turned to walk away, Slut. I was almost out of the alleyway when I heard her moan loudly.

“Oh, Ben.” She said.

I froze. No, no way. There’s absolutely no way that he would… it can’t be, not MY Ben. I didn’t give myself time to think about it before I turned and stomped my way back toward them.

“Ben?” I yelled. He obviously recognised my voice because he stopped straight away. “Ben. What are you - How could you? You bastard!” He pulled away from the girl and quickly tried to do-up his pants. “You son of bitch.” I was crying now, unable to control what I was doing and saying.

I automatically went into this rage that I couldn’t control and I guess for a split second I felt the way he did when he hit me. The girl ran off when she seen him change. He went from this cool sexy guy into a terrifying monster. He pushed me away from him as I tried to grapple onto his arms and when I didn’t stop trying to hurt him he punched me.

It’s a bit of a blur how it felt. All I really remember is stumbling backwards and hitting my head on the wall as I fell to the floor. The pain ripped through my face and the blood trickled down onto my lips. He didn’t even second glance me as he left me alone in the alley.

I made a snap decision not to feel sorry for myself. I had to pick myself up again; I had to get on with things because no one was going to do it for me. This time was different from the last. This time I decided to change things, I decided to make my escape even if there was only one way that I could do it.

I didn’t worry about anyone following me home; I was sure that they wouldn’t even notice that I was gone. I was aware of how I’d managed to surround myself by people who didn’t really care much about me. They’d stay out drinking and he’d stay out drinking and no one would get in my way.

I didn’t consider going the hospital. My broken nose meant nothing now. Soon I’d make that pain disappear; I’d make all the pain disappear. I was lucky in a way because I had enough pills in the flat to do it. I’d only gotten them a week before off the doctor to help me sleep; the nightmares were killing me.

Once home I lit a stick of cinnamon incense to mask the smell of the blood. I drew a bath and then I went into the kitchen and took out the Vodka and the pills. I slumped down on the sofa and stared at the old digital clock that hung cockeyed on the wall. I’d made an exact plan on my way home and it didn’t start for another five minutes.

I threw my head back with the bottle and took a deep swig. Thankfully the blood didn’t take the sting away from the taste as it hit me at the back of the throat; I needed to feel something other than pain.

My body shuddered as I methodically laid out the tablets on the table. I took particular care in arranging them along the circular shape of the coffee stain, which brought back painful memories. The pills hid the stain; they made it disappear. And I knew that even when I took the pills and the stain reappeared, that it wouldn’t be long until the memory that went with it would disappear too.

As the seconds counted down I knew it was almost time. At 3:29:55 I picked up the first pill and placed it on my tongue. I waited for the seconds to turn exactly to 3:30:00 and I swallowed; my countdown had begun.

The pill felt rough and dry as it scraped along my throat. Half the bottle of Vodka remained, which I was sure would be enough to have one quick sip for every pill. I waited for every exact minute to arrive and as each minute passed the more clear the coffee stain became.

As the clock reached 3:15 I took another pill and picked up my phone. There were so many things I wanted to say to so many people but I couldn’t bring myself to write anything down. I knew it wouldn’t matter, whatever I said because I would have killed myself and those last words I said would have more meaning than what I want them to have.

There was one person that I had to text that I had to explain things to. I didn’t think he’d understand what happened between us if I left this way and I wouldn’t want him to think that this was his fault.

You were always there, I wrote, you never judged, you never asked and you never pushed. You were just there, always. I want you to know that I was wrong, and that it was you that my constant and I just never realised it until it was too late. I’m sorry. And I clicked send and turned off my phone.

I ran my fingertips along the scars on my arms and I couldn’t fight the urge to reopen them. I was thrilled by all the control I had in that moment and I couldn’t get enough. I was inflicting the pain, I was controlling these sensations, and I would be the cause of my own death.

My self-harming started not long after I realised that Ben was never going to stop hurting me. It’s silly really, sort of ironic. I’ve asked myself a million times “wasn’t I in enough pain?” “Wasn’t the harm he did to me, physically and mentally, enough for me to take?” I suppose I used it as an outlet of control, my only outlet. And doing it made me feel alive even if it was just for a split second because in that second it was worth it. Besides the scars accompanied my bruises and broken bones perfectly.

In a way it became like a drug to me, a tiny escape away from my reality. And I became addicted to doing it. Even when I thought I was feeling a little better I would get this sudden surge of depression. It would creep over me like the cold creeps into a warm room. You feel it coming for you and it’s sort of slow but sudden all at the same time and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. I could feel every inch of it as it consumed my existence.

What made it worse was how he’d break my heart every day. It was as though I could feel my heart shattering into thousands of tiny pieces each time he struck me. Every day I tried desperately to piece it back together, telling myself that things would change soon. But the truth was that every time my heart shattered I lost a piece of it that would never be found that could never be fixed. That part of me was slowly disappearing forever.

I stumbled slightly as I stood up and I felt the blood trickling down my arms. I had done it, I had finished every last pill. I could feel that I didn’t have very long left but I was too impatient to wait even for that short while. I clambered into the bath. The water turned red as it diluted my blood.

As I breathed the water in I tried counting the seconds, 1…2…3, until the thinking would stop once and for all, until my heart stopped beating and my blood stopped pumping, 5….6…7…8…, until there was nothing, no thought, no feeling, no breathing, no existing - just nothing.