You've seen them, still you don't utter a single word. Those scars, you see them every day on this frail body of mine still you don't care enough to ask about what is wrong with me. I know that you've noticed how they are increasing in number and getting deeper day after day. I know that you saw me taking out that blade from Papa's shaving kit and you knew my intentions still, you didn't stop me. The first time I buried that sharp edged steel inside my delicate wrists, I was shivering. Blood started trailing down through my wrists and fell on the cold tiles of our bathroom. I cried for hours and everytime that blood stopped coming out I dug the blade deeper. I wanted to feel it because the emotional pain was far more worse than that physical pain and it was getting hard to bear it. As I came out of the bathroom, I was scared about how would you react if you found out about them. But eventually I understood that you are more than willing for this unworthy life of mine to end. You are waiting for the same day as I am, the day when I lose every sense and end this life which has caused nothing but suffering for both of us. You are waiting for me to give up from the day all of this started. But maa, you know what? I am different from YOU. You were never strong enough for your own self, let alone for your child. I am strong. I may lose my mind and consider the thought of giving up, but I have the strength to stand against all the odds of this filthy society. I may have many breakdown periods and loopholes in my courage but I am not YOU. Whatever may come tomorrow, even if every person abandons me just like you, I will fight. I will fight for the girl who craved for a mother, for the girl who was abandoned by her family, relatives and friends, for the girl who just wanted love, for the girl who lost herself because of you. I will fight.
We are all fighters in some way or another, aren't we?