“You are never enough,” says voice one. I hear her every time I look at the people around me. Her name is Doubt.

“See how they look at you? That pity…” Says Irate- voice two inside my head.

“Those scars- Hah, look at how much of a disgrace you are,” smirks Anger, the third voice inside me.

“Is this enough? I’m not sure you… wait- are we doing this right? Are they pleased? What do I do to make them see me as being ‘OK’?” This is Anxiety, she’s the nicest out of all of them.

“I am okay. I will be,” this is me- the one who’s dying inside, pushing against the voices- blotting them out as they seep through.

“He doesn’t love you,” Doubt whispers.

“He never will,” Irate laughs.

“Why don’t you just ball up and die?” The last voice says, she came last night. I call her Suicide.