I still feel pain every time I see all the scars in my body, both gone and fading. I remember the first hand that touched me, and I want to gurgle up everything inside me and throw it all on the floor. Your grip on my wrist when you helped me, and I can still tell how I got each one of them, who did it, who caused it, if it's from my own hands.

The people in my memories still haunt me. Kill me despite the strength I've mustered to push through.

I'm okay, right? I'm okay.

You said so, that day.

You're okay. Forget about it, you're okay. I told my mum and she got furious, but it's okay. He can kill himself, it's okay. You can hate me too, it's okay.

You said it's okay, even if I ruined your life, so I have to be.

I've been doing a lot of thinking too.

About you, about my mum, about all the people that have hurt me these past years.

And now I'm beginning to wonder if it's really okay to be okay.