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[Guest abc]

There was once a little girl. She had no name, she wasn’t important enough for that. She was alright to look at, not startlingly anything really. Plain. But inside she wasn’t alright. She lived a deep, dark secret that no-one else knew about. Until now.

Sometimes she felt like other people. She played and laughed and sang and the deep, darkness in her was contained. But then at other times she sang and laughed and played but it was an act. A cruel act. For when she went away, went home, went on her own the demons came and ate her up.

Outwardly there was no sign other than two bright lines on her arm. She looked like a normal person, she spoke like a normal person, she even laughed like a normal person. But that did not betray the turmoil inside. The despair, the darkness, the “other” self. And which one was the true girl…no-one knew and she didn’t know either. It was like being two people and neither was right. Neither was true and both were a lie. And that was hard.

Sometimes one self would break through to the other. For a while she would feel happiness and love and fun. Sometimes she would feel overwhelmingly sad and desperate. But usually these two selves were separate. One at home and one for the outside world. And no-one knew, no-one really knew. And if no-one really knew then how could they care?

She tried to trust people with her secrets. She tried to trust them with her inner self. But they went away. They didn’t want to cope with the dark, dismal self, they just wanted the sunny one. The girl felt more and more split and more and more like she had a guilty secret to hide. And hide it she did. For many months and many years. It because a part of her, so integral that the two halves split.

She tried talking to professional people but felt worse because they didn’t really care. So she cut herself.

Those two thin red lines. The outer expression of the inner turmoil. Such a minor extrusion on life and passed over by everyone but so symbolic, so symptomatic of what was inside. Cutting brought the two halves together. The pain brought the surface to the light and made it feel better. Made it real. She wasn’t imagining it. She wasn’t going mad. There was tangible evidence of her life, of her pain and of her suffering.

She was able to care for herself after that. It was a relief to have a tangible wound to look after. Plasters, bandages, creams, caring loving nurturing the wound. And it healed. Slowly , it healed. But the inside didn’t.

And what of the future? What indeed. Live a life which is completely untrue? That’s a lie. What? What? What?

The little girl is now curled up in a corner or her inner world. Her outer self keeps on working, laughing, singing but it is a shell. There’s nothing else there. And one day someone will discover her deep, dark secret and then she will be bereft of everything.

She doesn’t want to go forward, doesn’t want to go back.

It’s too much.

[Guest]

God is the only thing that can help.Tell her to open up to it.

I used to be in deppression.I cut myself here and there but I found my guru and he helps me whenever I need help.If you are Sikh then pray on waheguru.If you are some other then pray on something else.Just pray and it will help.Without praying the suffering won't go away.

[Wingz23]

:omg: the last bit is truly beautiful