"There is nothing in this world like the sharp sting on your skin as a shiny blade cuts through it. Watching the blood seep out and then pour down your arm is strnagely comforting; it's like watching all the pain, anger and hurt draining out of you. In the hours and days after the event I can calm myself just by looking at the patchwork of slices that cover my skin. Does that make me sick or just more honest than most?" Cutting wasn't something I was unaware of. After years of hiding it Ella had finally given up pretending that the scars were scratches from the cat or the result of a trip or fall. When she first told me I was shocked, who wouldn't be? It's not exact;y easy to understand how someone could intentionally hurt themselves and claim it was beneficial. But that's what she told me at the same time as giving me the opportuntiy to walk away from our friendship. Whilst I may be coming to realise how little I really knew Ella, she learnt that day that she didn't know me as well as she though and that for once in her life someone was going to stick by her. These days though I wonder if she'd recognise the friend she left behind, if she had even an inkling of what her death has done to me, of what I've become? I like to think not. I hope that if she'd seen this coming she never would have left because I know that if she could see me now, curled up into a ball, tears streaming down my face, rocking myself back and forth, alone and scared with blood running down my arm staining the pristine white carpet; she'd be...well she'd never forgive herself.