It's a warm August day and she sits in her room, legs crossed and elbows on the windowsill with her chin in her hands. Dark hazel irises stare out with child-like wonder at the cars speeding past her house. They're all going somewhere with happy families or parents going out for the night. Their lives are all in motion and they can always sleep easy. Or is that really the truth? Deep inside this girl wonders if maybe, just maybe, the people passing by are just like her; lonely and unable to sleep at night due to regret. They look so happy. There's always a reason why people look as happy as they do. Everyone has had their fair share of pain and now, later in time, are trying to hide it.

Nobody wants to be seen broken or vulnerable. Smiling to herself almost desolately, she leans back from the frosted window, now it is September and the air is chilling, and stretches her arms high above her head. Her fragile arms are clean except for the word 'Love' written across her left forearm. It's the signature of a past self-harmer. 'Love' is what is written on some people's arms because it symbolizes their support for the non-profit organization dedicated to providing treatment for depressed, suicidal, self-injuring, and addicted teens. It's a symbol of her pain and the trials life has thrown her through so many times prior.

When her arms come down again, 'Love' is still written, but two scars are now directly above the word. A third is fading slowly for it wasn't as deep. Wrapping her arms around herself, the brown-eyed girl shakes uncontrollably. Though she is not cold, inside she feels numb and immobile. What can she do anymore? Her life is falling apart all over again and these feelings she'd long since locked away have come back. Fear clamps down on her heart with an iron grip. What if she's destined to stay this way forever, afraid of herself and the world around her? The darkness fogging her mind and choking the air around her seems to pull her further down. Her forehead falls to her knees as she continues to shake. She's so weak. She could've stopped herself, but she didn't.

Her head lifts at last and it's already October. The scars on her wrist are fading slowly but surely. 'Love' is written darker across her arm. It's time to start over. Confidence is written across her face as she embraces those she loves and laughs along with people she cares for deeply. Still, she tells no one of what happened in September. She only prays to God at night that she'll be able to make it through again to a new cut-free year. A smile alights her face as she stands in the middle of her cluttered room, dreamily watching the sun slip behind the tall pine trees across the street.

It never was about waiting to be helped, it was about believing she wanted to be helped and understanding that she wanted to live. The warm embraces on cold October mornings reminded her to be strong and what she was fighting for. In this world, she is fighting not only to be free from the dark tendrils that hold her down, but also to be stronger for her friends. Her mind flips back to that warm summer evening in June when she sat crying on her bed, finally realizing that the answers she had to her problems were meaningless. It was then she promised herself she would live and stay to see what tomorrow would bring.

Though sometimes sightless, she is still here. I am still here.