I always knew that should these days come there would be one thing I would think incessantly: ‘why?’ And it was true. Over and over again in my head the same word resounded. The same pitch, the same droning sound. And each time I heard it, I had to think of a new excuse. I felt as if I was falling into the fearsome depression that had wrecked Kelli’s life for so long. Her death still made no sense to me, I didn’t – no, couldn’t understand it. The way she was taken from me at a time when so many horizons still lay waiting for her, for us to discover was an injustice I could never neither understand nor accept. How could it happen? I thought everything was going to be alright, how stupid could I be? Nothing could fix the eternal shreds in Kelli’s heart; nothing could return her life to the way she once knew it. Even when she was older, when she had moved out of her house, she would still have the scars, the relentless disfigurements which had somehow brought her pleasure once. Coating her arms and legs. Each day I would see knew scrapes and cuts, and I would collapse inside. Every slash the harshest reminder of what a failure I had grown to be, how I made such a pathetic affect, how she could ignore me to the point of engaging with my enemy, enjoying it, wanting it more. She didn’t care about me, not truthfully. And I would always hate myself for that. She would always say ‘my friends are everything to me’ and ‘I would do anything to make you happy’ but obviously ‘everything’ wasn’t enough, ‘anything’ didn’t include giving up; it didn’t include sacrificing whatever twisted satisfaction she gained from it, just to make my world, and the worlds of anyone who knew infinitely better. She had apparently given up before, but nothing was good enough for me, after seeing her suffer for an entire year - hearing her cry down the phone, hearing that she had gone two weeks without using the blade felt like nothing. I visited countless self harm help sites, every one said that I should be caring, not put any pressure on her, not be negative; but I just hated it so much, I couldn’t face being positive towards it. I really hated it. From deep within me. Anything good about it was incomprehensible me. I wouldn’t wish self harm on anyone, not even the person I detested the most. It was my enemy, it was what I fought against, it was what I loathed…and it was what she chose, over me.