"I once knew this girl with these eyes that made everyone stop to tell her how pretty they were but as she grew older she drifted away from everyone and stopped speaking. And eating. And sleeping. And caring. And now the two of us are strangers. I haven't seen her in years. Only the shell of her that looks back at me in the mirror every morning.
You see, when you think about it, our world is disgusting. A corpse of a democracy, nothing but a kingdom ruled by power, gluttony and sex. The people are filthy and the ground we walk upon nothing more than the bones of our ancestors. We call this place hell, but I can assure you there's places far worse.
Places like home.
I should probably explain.
Like any other good story, mine begins with a murder. The murder of a poor girl named Iris Hallows. On the 17th of September, she was killed. Though her body still remained in tack there was nothing left of her. The cause of death was the shattering of her empty self. The weapon; her fathers fists smashing the fragile skin.
She was only 11 years old when she died. Far too young...
I want to leave, to go somewhere where I should be really in my place, where I would fit in, but there is no place for a girl who died six years ago; I am unwanted.
People always seem to judge one another before they get to know one another, don't they? No one really seems to understand that by doing so someone could end up dead in a motel bathroom or maybe their own bedroom. No one seems to care though. It's all just fun and games. Every 'she looks like a slut' and 'he's weird, don't talk to him' all band together. Every word you've ever called someone feels like a punch in the face to your victim.
Sometimes people don't even realise they're doing it. They don't even realise that a simple sentence can be the reason someone is pointing a gun at their head.
They don't understand that depression isn't drinking coffee and shaky hands holding a cigarette or writing poetry late at night. It's not sleeping in cold winter mornings or a book store visit where you meet the love of your life and they somehow put the broken pieces back together with a smile. Depression is staying home all the time and sleeping for 4 days in a row. It's greasy hair because you haven't showered in a week. It's not eating. It's tear stained pillows and trash covering every inch of your room because the thought of cleaning it makes you feel sick. It isn't always popping pills, downing whiskey, or slicing veins. Sometimes it's crossing the street without looking; sometimes it isn't wearing your seatbelt. Sometimes it's as simple as staying up all night, because you don't want tomorrow to come...
I'm sorry, I'm just ranting now...
I don't even understand why you care anyway.
...You still know I'm going to do it...no matter how much you try to convince me not too...okay...just letting you know...
My final goodbye to the world...
I guess it'd be to tell everyone out there who is going through shit that if you can't do it don't.
Harsh? Too bad. This isn't a happy tale.
If things get to much, stop and take a step back. Look at what you're doing. Is it worth it? Keep stepping back until you know the answer. Maybe falling off the edge is. Maybe starting again. Maybe it's just taking a moment to clear your head. It's your life. Don't let rumours get the better of you and don't ever let someone else tell you what is best for you.
Maybe it's death, maybe it's a breath."
Remember that girl who sat in the back of the class, the one that's not there now?
That girl no longer exists...
THE END...
