Cuts Over Cuts

In the corner of the dark room she crouched, reflecting upon everything in her life. She had made horrible mistakes, she was not the wisest person, she couldn't make good decisions. She was wild and crazy, free of all cares of the world. She had a life of her own imagination, where people's opinions did not matter.
But she had ended up crushed under the burden of so many social stigmas. Just because she made horrible mistakes, she wasn't the wisest person, she couldn't make good decisions.
She lifted her head from inside her knees, revealing a pale, tear-stained face, eyes red with dark rims around.
She put aside her shiny possession, and wiped her sweaty hands on her pants. She got up and dragged herself to the mirror, where she scrutinized herself with curious eyes wandering haphazardly in all directions. Then she covered her face with her hands. She had not found what she had got up to seek so eagerly in the mirror with one tiny ray of hope.
Now she blew out all the candles in her mind. There was total darkness. She could not think what was possibly wrong with her other than everything.
Every second of her life, she was reminded that her life was a total mess. She made new mistakes everyday. There was nothing impressive about her. She wasn't "pretty and perfect" like the rest of the girls.
There was no comparison. She was worthless. She wasn't pretty, she didn't wear make up, she didn't have the "attraction" and the "looks" or a tinge of "feminity" in her.
So he didn't like her.
He liked someone else.
She went back to the corner of the dark room, picked up the blade she had given a break to, and took out a heavily scarred arm. She paused for a moment, thinking "this arm is as messed up as my life", and started slicing her skin as deep as it would go.