I cannot thank my younger self enough for being strong enough to keep the urges from my face.
I remember feeling so damaged and ugly that I would dig my fingernails into my cheeks to keep the demons at bay.
There were so many times I held the razor in front of my face, thinking that maybe cutting it might make me feel pretty.

And that is so ****** up.

Today I am so angry, it is rattling my bones.
My body shakes and an earthquake of tears escape my eyes.
It's so bad that I contemplated taking out an old friend and ripping apart my skin.
But I can't **** up two years.
I can't **** up my pretty.