My mom told me when I was thirteen years old, that friends can really be enemies in masks and you won't notice until you're crying in your room at two in the morning because they said something that cut so deep that you think you might bleed out right there. She told me to stop talking to those people because they're going to destroy you, or even worse, they'll make you destroy yourself. What she failed to mention was that getting the poison out of your blood is so much more difficult than anyone will tell you. When I was thirteen, I brushed off her warnings and told her things weren't like that with us.  I wish I could tell myself what I know now, because it's always easier to quit before the poison hits your bloodstream.