She Doesn't Know Who She Is

She has lost so many of these battles with herself. And she has lost so much of herself within those battles. She remembers the deep depression that followed for months after the first assault. She remembers lying in bed in total darkness, numb. She remembers going through life in slow motion. She had no comfort in anything or anyone. She needed an escape. So she found her escape in hot showers and razor blades. She found her escape in smoking pot with strangers. She found her escape in drinking until she threw up. She found her escape in starving her body of anything good. She was once a lively little girl. But there is almost nothing of that little girl left. And what is left is no good. Nothing worth saving, fighting for, or even glancing at.
She doesn't know who she is  

The girl who loved summer, winter, and fall is gone. She has been gone for quite some time now. The girl who loved flying through the air  has since disappeared. The little girl who loved playing in the woods with her neighborhood friends no longer goes outside. The little one who felt safe under the bright night sky got hurt so bad that her skies darkened into complete blackness. And so she became lost in the sea of blackness. It surrounded her, engulfed her, and captured her. 

She has not been seen since 

This poem is about: 
Me

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