It wasn't anything that could ever be explained. Though, others would always try to define it to make themselves feel better. They never saw that you had stopped breathing, because every time you did, it somehow made you ache with the idea that you were alive, but not living. They never knew that all the noise in your mind, was never your own voice. But instead it was the thunderous roar of all of their scrutiny, chipping away at your soul. They would never truly see, even with eyes wide open, all the truth that was actually you. Why would they see that your scars and your wounds were from their bloody hands?...