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   She was that wisp of light that breezed into my dark world. Till the day I’m nailed into my coffin, I will cherish her memory for she was my ray of hope. She gave me a reason to live, to look forward to a brighter tomorrow and above all, she showed me in a miraculous way that there is still some goodness left in this harsh and cruel reality.

   I am Lacrysia, a girl of twenty years of age. Four years ago, a life-changing incident occurred, when I was still a vulnerable sixteen year old. This horrifyingly scarring incident was the death of my parents, due to a fault of my own. I do not wish to discuss this as this brings back pangs of guilt, shame and pain in its purest, most tangible form.

   All of a sudden, I found myself a lonely orphan. I was forced into my aunt’s custody and was left with absolutely no options when I had to move to another city. Nobody knew of the terrible guilt I sheltered and neither were they enlightened about the real reason behind my parents’ deaths as it had all been shrewdly, yet effectively, accounted for.
This solitary confinement of a troubled soul started off a chain of drastic events. Being   new in school, I never did bother to make new friends. It was customary for me to sit silently and inconspicuously in a dark corner of the class and watch all my peers laugh and joke without a single care. I never joined in on their discussions and refused to share their joys and sorrows for deep down, I knew that nobody would understand me or the ordeal that I had just endured. There was an undying misery within me, a permanent shadow of gloom that cursed my very existence and ate me up ever so slowly from the inside.

   It was during this period of time that I was sucked into the deepest and darkest abyss of the gothic realm. Tired of feeling like a perpetual misfit, I indulged in this subculture, because for once, I felt that I truly belonged there. It isn’t the way a person dresses or behaves that makes them a Goth. The essence of gothic is truly in the soul, in the darkest corners of your mind where all things morbid and dark rest. All “Goths” as they called themselves, shared one universal feeling- Depression. Depression is a very strong emotion. It accompanies with it hopelessness, mental anguish, loneliness, phobia, dread and above all, a suicidal attitude.

   The thought of suicide crossed my mind many a times, but I must admit that I was rather afraid. So instead of trying to kill myself, I embarked upon a psychotic series of self-infliction. Almost everyday, I would lock myself up in the damp emptiness and confusion of my room and start engraving symbols and emotions into my bare, teenage flesh with a sharpened blade or sometimes, pieces of broken glass The sight of my blood dripping onto the floor gave me an adrenalin rush, an immense satisfaction like none other and I began to thrive on it.

   On one such mournful day, I was deluded more than usual and decided to carry out my activities in school. In my trance-like state, I cut my arm with my handy blade after securely locking myself in a bathroom cubicle, watching the stream of blood trickle to a dry end, too numb to even feel any pain. When I was through, I went back to my usual corner in the class, making sure that I hadn’t been seen (not that it was a problem when I was near invisible). I guess I was careless in concealing my gashes this time, for it was not before long that one of my classmates noticed a fresh line of blood dripping down my sleeve. Dragging her chair next to mine, she caught me unaware as she jerked my sleeve up. Seeing the clutter of bruises, cuts, scars, scabs and an entire mass of dried, clotted blood, she gasped. I will never forget that sound because when I whirled around in surprise, it was followed by a tight slap that was delivered to my left cheek, with a force that disoriented me and left me staring wide-eyed.

   Well, that was an amusing way to begin our friendship, but nevertheless, that was all that I needed. That slap brought me back all my senses, gift-wrapped. They came flooding back to me at an instant, the same senses that I had lost the moment I lost my parents. From that day on, Marsilia became my best friend, and I confided in her everything. I felt that if I revealed my past to her, she would abandon me. At the same time, I also felt that as my best friend, it was crucial for her to find out sooner or later. Surprisingly, she did the exact opposite of what I anticipated. She accepted me with all my shortcomings and psychotic mood swings. Thanks to her, at the age of twenty, I am now like any other college student and memories of self-infliction, violence and abuse have long been forgotten.

   The only tragedy is that she succumbed to fatal injuries that summer, after being run over by the drunken driver of an SUV vehicle, while crossing the road. Though her bodily presence is not felt, the special connection we shared will never die. It still lives within me. She was and always will be my ray of hope. In my darkest moments, I see her image in my mind’s eye, and I know that everything will be just fine, just fine…