Sometimes, I look into the mirror.

Is that me? Is the ginger, straw-like hair mine? Are those empty eyes and scrawny arms mine? Is that stiff posture mine? Is the person in front of me I don’t recognize… me?

Sometimes, tears dance along my face, commanding it to scrunch up. Anger burns through me, setting my insides aflame, awaking something raw and primal inside me.

I’m not sure I like it.

Sometimes, I feel like the world is spinning. A wave of nausea surges over me, making me aware of the seething and bubbling sensation in my stomach. There are voices, voices calling me from everywhere and nowhere at once. They yell and scream at me unspeakable things, so vile and disgusting that they do not deserve to exist in this world.

Sometimes, I bite my lip just for fun. I pick at my fingers and dig my fingernails into the wounds. Just to relish that metallic taste and the smell of pennies. It fulfills my inner desires, motivating and encouraging me.

Am I a monster?

What is wrong with me?

Sometimes, I see something in the darkness. Something moving in the depths of misery. I throw myself on the bed, huddled in my blankets. I tremble, terrified for my life.

Anguish and distress slips from the darkness and surrounds me like a fairy ring. It reaches in and controls me. I watch helplessly as my limbs develop a mind of their own, torturing and tormenting me in ways I cannot describe.

It is only then when the murk and clouds of despair gradually fade away, revealing the silhouette hidden in my nightmares.

That scraggly red hair. The hunched stature. The pale, pale skin. Those empty eyes.

She charges at me, wrapping her arms around my neck, mumbling and whispering all that the shadows have murmured. I choke and struggle against her grasp. My eyes widen as my arms flail to no avail. She remains motionless even when I try to kick her as my last attempt at survival. My lungs throb and collapse against my will, heart beating out of my chest. All I can see is blood. Blood writing is scrawled all over my closet, my walls, everywhere.

Whose blood is it?

Suddenly, there is nothing. Fresh air rushes into my lungs again as they hungrily devour it. The darkness disappears into thin air. I look down. My hands are squeezing my neck with a firm grasp. Quickly, I release them. Red finger marks cover my neck, pulsating in fury and exhilaration.

Blood. Blood.

My hands, they’re stained with blood.

I look up.

Blood is still scribbled on my walls.

It’s still there.

The same phrase is repeated over and over again, scratched hurriedly.

“FREE ME.”

I don’t recognize myself.