My mind were full of sick thoughts. I even thought of having a knot around my neck and hang my self to the ceiling. I even thought about slamming my face a hundred times on the hard surface of the wall and watch the blood run down. Sometimes when I look at the steely knives that I usually found in our sink, and thinking about stabbing myself deeply until my breathing stops. Then I look at my mirror and covered my scar, why do I have to do this burns and cuts? Why do I have to painfully hurt myself? Why do I starved to death? At least I tried how it feels when you’re in hell. I put down my mirror and comb my hair. Absolutely I still breaths and still exists. I exist.