People love to ask me what’s wrong with me. They love to throw around things like, “Why can’t you be normal?” or “You’re such a freak.” They claw at me with nails that cut so deep, they’re touching my lungs. I can’t breathe, can’t feel, can’t survive unless they hold me up with words that kill. Words that make me feel nothing and everything at the same time. Words that surf every inch of my skin and creep into every bone and refuse to let go. I’m pushed to the ground by the same people I spilled secrets with over the fire, rose with happiness till we couldn’t get any higher. I didn’t know it could get this dire. But it did. And I sit here on the bathroom floor with hands that no longer feel anymore. I sit here on the bathroom floor with hair pulled out and my clothes ripped off. I sit here, on the bathroom floor, and watch my reflection as I slowly disappear. I am no longer there, no longer here, no longer anywhere. I am numb, I am gone, I am lost. I am dead.