The sheets were red, and so were my arms, face, and hair. Red and black, blurred vision, spots. Purple, faint purple tinged with brown up and down my legs. Scars that would never fade, they were just a constant reminder of failure. Failing a test, getting hit, forgetting to do something, eating, drinking, dreaming, existing, all a failure. Never good enough, fast enough, strong enough, it was just the same story day after day. But today was different. I cut too deep this time. I tried to stop the bleeding but it just flowed out of my arm. I started crying, whether it was out of pain or relief, I didn’t know. I couldn’t stop crying either. The tears flowed from my eyes as fast as the life out of my arm. Not even I wanted to be near me.
Part of me was glad though. I wouldn’t have to worry anymore, or be afraid. I wouldn’t be anymore. All the pressure and fear would just end and I could be gone. I would finally be free. This wouldn’t be giving up, it would be winning. I closed my eyes, let go, and welcomed my fate. I was finally done.
As I waited my mind started to wander. With no control I flashed back to when I was seven. It was the Fourth of July and my real dad was sitting with my mom. I was running around in the yard trying to catch fireflies. As I ran the sky burst open above me in red, white, and blue fire. My parents sat close, holding hands, smiling and laughing. This was before everything changed. This was when we were still happy and I had my father. I remember not caring about anything in the world except those little bugs flying around and the fire above my head. It seems so stupid now that back then I wanted to grow up. Now I would give anything to go back to that night.

Before I could go over to my parents I was thrown off a boat into the crystal clear water of the Pacific Ocean. My dad jumped in after me and we splashed each other in the water. I chuckled softly at the memory. I was ten, and this was the last vacation we had with him before he died. We were a picture perfect family and I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Little did I know what was going to happen and who we would get to replace him.

Now I was walking through the halls of my high school. It wasn’t the place I would like to think of before I died because there are more bad memories than good. I was walking across the courtyard with my head down and tried to make myself as small as possible. When I was halfway across I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist. Before I could make a sound I was lifted into the air and spun around. There was laughter and smiling, two things that felt very foreign to me after seven years of abuse. My lifter set me down and I turned around to see who it was. It was Adam, my best friend since second grade. He always knew how to brighten my day and was there to help. I just never let him in. After that we walked to our next classes and he wanted to do something over the weekend. I refused, making some excuse. His smile faltered, but he said it was fine. As I watched this I wanted to kick myself for not saying yes. He was the only one who cared, but I realized that too late.
I came back to my mattress and slowly opened my eyes. The bright red against the snow white sheets alarmed me and I knew it had to stop. Everything had to stop. My step-father’s abuse, me pushing everyone away, self-harming, hating myself, just everything. This was not the way to go. My time is not up yet, nowhere near up yet. I am not going to let myself win. Now I know there’s too much out there to lose now.
I slowly pushed myself up to a sitting position and nearly passed out. Black spots danced across my vision and threatened to knock me out, but I forced myself to stand. Half blind I managed to stumble my way across the room, while picking up my phone, and turn the door knob. I cradled my arm and laughed at my stupidity of trying not to get blood on the carpet. Somehow I managed to get to the bathroom without passing out and wrapped a towel around my arm. Then I slouched down on the floor and called Adam. He picked up on the first ring and I asked if he could come pick me up. He agreed, no questions asked, and said he would be there in five minutes.
In the end I ended up getting thirteen stitches and in-patient care at a mental hospital for two months, then out-patient for another month when I was deemed stable. My mom was a complete mess when she came to the hospital. She blamed herself for not noticing and for not leaving my step-father. When he didn’t come to the hospital though, she left him on the streets. We even got a restraining order. Adam and my mom came and visited me every day at the mental hospital and I slowly got better. Turns out I won after all.