The Wintergirls of PrettyThin and PrettyAlone

Those two sites hurt.

To see the pain in the scar-veiled words of clipped-winged birds can only demonstrate the torments of living in today's world. Once beautiful, radiant butterflies, their wings have been severed, leaving only bared wounds and broken dreams.

Wintergirls with nothing left of shelter, freezing and alone in the malevolent storm.

I have not cut myself much in my life; I have only done it a few times.

I still think about it, but I save it for only the most desperate of times.

But I am much like them: cold, hopeless, and lost.

Starving for the very thing I crave most:

Love.

Deprived of love and craving the very basic of approval, I, like the Wintergirls, am mired between life and death; I, like them, am alive, but not living.

We wait for one to claim us.

Because then, and only then, will we finally belong.

I feel for the Wintergirls.

Because I almost know what it's like to be one of them.