It's 3:00 AM. I just can't sleep. I won't. Another night, and I won't sleep. I refuse to relive every single one of my rapes. I refuse to be tortured in my sleep. I feel like a failure. I've failed everyone. Everything. I miss who I used to be. But I love who I am now. I love torturing myself. But it's so wrong. It's too wrong. I'm just sitting here looking at my scars. I can't stop crying. I can't stop bleeding. I can't stop cutting. I can't stop. I need to be okay. I have a family now. I have a family. I need to be okay. But I just can't. Goddamnit. I need help. No. I don't need help. I need the blade. That's what I need. There are seven billion people in the world. And I'm just one. People wouldn't notice if one person disappeared, would they? I've gotten my fifteen minutes of fame. Front page of the paper "Girl Gets Brother To Rape Her For Attention". But that wasn't true. I didn't get him to rape me. I begged him to stop. I promise I did. It's been so long since I've slept. Every time I close my eyes, he's in me again. Ruining me. And I can't do it. I won't do it anymore. I'm hiding from dreams. Memories. And that's okay, right? Isn't it okay to hide every one in a while? Everyone tells me scars fade, and I'm sure they do. But memories, internal scars, don't. They're here forever, and they haunt you. They never let you forget. I'm not allowed to forget. I find pictures, videos, photo albums, journals, and I just can't get away from the memories. The pain. I don't mean to be the way I am. I can't help it. I try to be okay. I try so hard. But trying isn't good enough. You have to be. Not try. You have to do. Not try. My hands are shaking from too many energy drinks, too much cutting, too much pain, fear, I just can't help myself anymore. I broke my promise. I promised I was done, but life is hell and I needed to know I was still here and I broke my promise. I can't help my sister anymore. I can't help Erin. I can't be there for Mikey. I can't love Hayley anymore. I can't love myself. I never have. I never will. And that's okay. Because I'm not good enough to be loved. Soon another hour will pass, then two, and then twelve, then a days gone, and I still haven't slept, and I'm drowning in exhaustion and my pain, my body is trying to shut down but I refuse. I'm better than that. I'm stronger. I'm okay. I'll make myself okay. I'll do this again tomorrow night. I'll sit here and stare at my body in utter disgust. I hate everything I see. The scars. The fat. The ugliness. Me. I'm disgusting. My body defines me. The girl with the past. The girl with no future. The girl who's forever alone. My scars are so ugly. And I made them. I forced myself to bleed. I tore my skin. And I liked it. I still do. I need to stop. I can't turn to writing whenever I hate life. It doesn't work anymore. Writing doesn't fix me like it used to. It's useless. I'm useless. Now it's 3:20 AM. And I'm wide awake. I won't give in. I will stay awake. I won't let myself be raped again. I won't let it happen. Please. Don't let it happen. Not again.