Some people will have you believe that damage can be beautiful, and it's true that you can find the sunlight through the clouds. But my trauma is not pretty. It is an ugly bruise that everyone thinks is okay to poke at, and watch the black and blue attempt to change colours when it heals. There is no beauty in crying alone at 3am, spilling alcohol down your shirt at a party you're only attending to drown your issues in, swallowing tiny little pills to feel somewhat okay, avoiding any comfort because you feel you deserve less. It is a lonely place to be, stuck in a broken mind with one-way windows. I can romanticise my pain as much as i want, but it will always be a toxic relationship i have with myself. And it is not beautiful.