The chaos inside Safiyah's mind became unbearable. Every day, the noise grew louder - the relentless barrage of memories, the whispers of shame and guilt, the anger, the fear. It was all too much. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think without feeling like she was drowning in it all. She needed an escape. Anything to stop the constant storm that tore through her thoughts. One night, as she sat at her desk, her eyes glazed over, a pair of scissors on her desk caught her attention. They sat innocuously on the surface, just another object in her room, but tonight, they seemed to pulse with a strange, dark invitation.Her fingers tingled with an inexplicable need, a desperate desire for relief from the weight of it all. Before she could fully process what she was doing, Safiyah found herself gripping the scissors tightly, her breath shallow and erratic. She raised the blade and pressed it against her arm, feeling the sharp sting as it broke her skin. The pain was sudden, searing, but in a way, it was a relief. For the first time in so long, there was a distraction, something outside of the suffocating storm inside her. The blood welled up, a small, red line appearing on her skin, and for a fleeting moment, Safiyah felt a sense of control - a sense of power she hadn't known in years. She could make the pain stop, even if only for a moment.
The world around her blurred, and in that silence, she felt an illusion of calm, as if she could finally breathe. But the relief was short-lived. The sting, the temporary escape, was a lie. As she stared at the thin red line on her skin, something inside her cracked. Horror washed over her in waves. What had she done? What was she becoming? The shame, the self-loathing, crashed down on her like a tidal wave, drowning her. She wasn't sure which hurt more - the physical pain or the emotional ache that came from realizing just how far she had fallen. She didn't know how to stop the pain. It had taken root inside her, deep within her soul, and now, it seemed to bleed out, leaving nothing but emptiness behind. She closed her eyes, feeling tears welling up inside her, but they never escaped. It wasn't just the pain in her body that terrified her - it was the realization that she was losing herself.She couldn't recognize the girl in the mirror anymore. She couldn't recognize the person she had become. That night, she sat on her bed, the scissors lying forgotten on her desk, as she opened her diary. The only place left where she could speak without judgment, without fear. The pen hovered over the page, and then she began to write, pouring out her despair: "I feel like I'm losing myself. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know how to stop the pain. I just want it to end." The words spilled onto the page, raw and painful, like a confession. .
There was no one to speak to, no one to hear her. She was alone, lost in a world of her own making, where the silence screamed louder than anything else. The next day, She wore a long-sleeved shirt to school, hiding the evidence of her struggle. She sat in class, her body stiff, every movement forced, like a puppet trying to act normal while the strings of her life pulled her in every direction. No one noticed. No one ever did Her friends, her teachers, her family - they were all blind to the battle she was fighting. And in a way, she was grateful for that. Because if they saw the cracks, if they saw the pain, they might ask questions she wasn't ready to answer. They might see the parts of her that were too broken to fix. No one noticed the scars, and in the absence of their attention, She felt a bitter kind of peace. Because it meant she could remain invisible. And being invisible is better than being seen. At least that way, no one could judge her. No one could tell her what she should do. She kept the mask intact, her emotions buried beneath layers of forced smiles and empty words. But inside, the storm continued to rage, and She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep pretending.There was no one to speak to, no one to hear her. She was alone, lost in a world of her own making, where the silence screamed louder than anything else.