I want to go to sleep and not wake up, but I don’t want to die.

Be careful what you wish for. There's always a catch.

I am locked into the mirror and there is no door out.

I watch the Eruptions. Mount Dad, long dormant, now considered armed and dangerous. Mount Saint Mom, oozing lava, spitting flame. Warn the villagers to run into the sea.

I open a paperclip and scratch it across the inside of my left wrist. Pitiful. If a suicide attempt is a cry for help, then what is this. A whimper, a peep? I draw little window cracks of blood, etching line after line until it stops hurting.

I would never be popular. I didn't want to be; I liked being shy. I'd never be the smartest or the hottest or the happiest. By eighth grade you start to figure out your limits.

I wish adults would spend less energy freaking out about the cutting itself and work harder to understand what drives kids to self-harm.