I keep thinking, “After I change this I’ll be fine. Everything will feel right after that.” But it never ends up being right. It ends up being a nice change but it never fixes the uneasy feeling I have of losing control. I’m trying to do it in healthy ways. Dying my hair, decorating my room, and taking pictures. I still end up wanting to rip my body apart. I say to myself, “Maybe if I ripped down deep enough, I wouldn’t be in so much pain. Or if I cut my self enough times it would distract me from the pain that never goes away.”But I know in my head that that’s crazy. So I keep dying my hair. I make plans to move my room around. I dream about someone holding me at night. Something to hold onto. Then I go out into the world, put on a smile, and everything is fine. I don’t want to cut the places that hurt me. I don’t want to shave my hair off my head. I don’t wish that I would just die young so my body would stop killing me and make my mom a free woman. Because if I did I would be institutionalized and my body’s already got that covered.