Invisible Pain

I have tried to TEAR MYSELF APART. Picking at my skin until it bleeds. Pulling at the extra skin around my waist as if that simple act would make it disappear. I debated wearing a bag over my head just to cover up my face. I held a razor to my wrist and wondered if I should pull it across my skin and down my arm. I just wanted there to be proof on the outside so they couldn’t tell me that my scars are invalid just because they are invisible to the naked eye. But I never did those things. As much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t tear myself into pieces that would resemble my heart and mind. No matter how many extremes I took, I would still appear whole, allowing people to tell me that my pain would never add up to theirs like it's some kind of contest. But I decided that I hurt enough the way it is. Enough people made me feel invisible and unwanted. Enough people mutilated me in ways that will never scab over and heal with time. So I set the bag on fire, and dropped the razor into the garbage can, and waved goodbye to all the tormentors as I ascended the ladders leading into the sky.