It is unnerving. Intimidating. There's a deep sick feeling in her stomach, an itching that's spreading across her skin, digging in like bugs. She doesn't feel right inside of her own body, and this is just an echo of it.

There's nothing like looking at a glimpse of what she used to be, to make her realize how far she's come. To make her realize just how lost she was. How twisted, and angry, and desperate.

How close to the edge.

Looking back on it makes her feel closer.

"Yeah," she answers, unflinching. She's looking at the page, not Abby's face.

"I was fucked up."

With a sharp twist of her wrist, she flips the journal shut.