You're acting weird. And not in a good way, there's not much more that I can say besides why. And as I pester and poke at what you're trying to hide the conversation changes its tide you get angry and scream "SUICIDE... Okay?" But it's not. I don't know what to do or even who i should ask because it's sure as hell not you, you're on the edge and I'm a sixteen year old girl crying out that I'm not trained for this. This moment, this catastrophe. I can't believe you've asked of me the only thing I'm unable to do, because I haven't been there for you. You've pushed everyone away and then decided to say that no one would stay to make sure you're okay. Believe me I've tried hell I've almost died bending over backwards trying to give you space and time checking in through your family to see if you're even alive because you won't talk to me. Yet I'm still here stuck in this moment gaping at my screen, tears rolling down my cheeks because I don't know what to do. I can't come up with an answer for you as why not to because I often can't answer that question myself. The weight of the situation sets in, gets under my skin until I'm shaking, making unnatural noises, oh how I wish I was the tin man without a heart so I could focus on you. Know what you need to do. You're feet are slipping and that hand is ever so tightly gripping that pill bottle. Tell me is there something I'm missing? Some romanticized version of death you've been kissing? Have you been cheating on life with a razor blade? Or simply been wishing that you were never made?
-Autumn Hewitt
