I fight a good fight. It would be so much easier for me to be that tragic girl. The beautifully sad girl. The girl who guards her heart with chains and locks. Like a black unicorn, she’s mysterious and elusive because she is too fragile to touch. So painfully consumed in her own head she has no room for anyone else. She wears her face like a mask, concealing the conflict within. Ominous clouds gather behind her eyes, the storm ready to take over at any moment. That girl is toxic and alluring, like a poisoned flower daring you to come close but cutting you with her thorns as you try. That girl, she’s intriguing, sure. But only if you don’t have to be her. Because that girl isn’t happy. She doesn’t know how to enjoy life or count her blessings. She is numb and volatile and lonely. I’m this girl at my default. It’s second nature for me to go back to being her. But I fight the darkness within me. I feel so comfortable in black, even as it suffocates me. So I fight. I fight to be the girl who feels, who laughs, who enjoys life. The girl who keeps moving forward, even as I feel like curling into a ball on the floor and staying there. I’m a dark Phoenix, being reborn again and again out of the shadowy ash that seeks to consume me.