The Note

"Eliza, you need to open up to me. You cannot just sit here in silence that won't help anyone!"

I stared at her blankly. She had no idea. I didn't want help and more importantly I didn't need it. Everyone has their own way of dealing with things and mine just happens to be different. My way is by just not talking about it. As soon as you talk about it it becomes real. I don't care who it does or doesn't help. I'm me not her. I am myslef and that's all i will ever be.

You can try all you want to live like others or even live through someone else but at the end of the day all it will do is hurt you. The only person that can make you happy is you. But maybe being you just isn't enough and that is okay too. Sometimes, it is okay to cry. It gets to a point where there is only so much crying can do and right now it's not enough.

I'm done.

It all started with a rumour and being in secondary school meant that that rumour snowballed out of control until it ran straight over me.

This disgusting rumour stated that I had started to self harm. I was a target and that was all. The worst part was it was a total lie! Anyway, this snowball managed to hit a strike when word reached my mother. After that my friends just left. I felt unimportant. Alone.

I mean... in year 10 (when i was 15) I did have a boyfriend, not that it lasted long, not when he discovered my 'baggage' as his friends liked to call it.

I fell for him instantly...thats where i went wrong, I let myself care.

It wasn't his silky brown locks that curled against his head. Nor was it his tanned skin or his deep brown eyes that I could spend an eternity staring in to. Nope, it was none of that sentimental shit. It was the very first thing he said to me, it grabbed my heart and hugged it so tight I genuinely thought I could faint. I tripped into him on the way to English, dropping everything onto the floor. I'm an extremely clumsy person so I wasn't overly embarrassed. I just didn't care. Except this time, he stopped and helped me. Being 15 years old politeness in boys was a very rare trait. He looked at me and said 'I couldn't help but notice you breathe oxygen too?' I looked at him, puzzled. He paused 'We have so much in common.' He then winked and walked away.

And I have to say that was the start to the happiest 5 months of my life. But like I said, you can't hide your past forever, and I was anything but exempt from this rule.

That was 4 years ago now and alot has changed.

Since year 8, when I was 13 years old, I have been bounced between counsellor to therapist to psychiatrist back down again to regular psychologist.

Right now my therapists name is Anne and she is a lovely woman with fair skin and dark hair. She is slightly doughy but her height balances it out. I've been seeing her for almost 6 months now which is the longest anyone had persevered with me for. I don't know if it was her familiar false smile or her begging eyes but I knew now was a better time than any to finally tell her what's going on.

I swung around on my chair so I made direct eye contact with Anne. "Listen to me. I know all about this therapy bullshit so I know for a fact everything I say stays between us. Now, I know what I'm going to tell you and none of it needs to be repeated. Are we clear?" I surprised myself with the authority with which I spoke but I couldn't falter. She was searching my face for signs of deception but it was all in vain. I am tired of keeping it inside so here goes nothing.

"Ask me anything, I'm ready..." I began.

"When you're sat on your own, just thinking, how do you feel?"

I could feel myself hesitating but reluctantly I murmured, "Sometimes, I just want to sleep forever."

I could sense a quickening pace when she spoke. I knew as soon as I answered that question that it would provoke interest but what can I say-I like to go out with a bang.

"Do you feel you want to commit suicide" she asked this a bit too eagerly for my liking but I obliged.

"Not actively, but if something were to happen to me, I wouldn't necessarily be upset about it either."

A puzzled look flashed on her face but as soon as she noticed me looking she asked "Could you perhaps explain?"

I sighed. "I don't think I have the courage to actually go through with committing suicide, but if I were to be walking across the road and a car was coming straight towards me, I don't think I would get out of the way..."

She stared at me. Speechless. I couldn't blame her. Not really. It's not everyday you hear a girl at the tender age of 17,

telling you that shes ready to end it all and is so deeply hurt that she cannot bear what will seem like an eternity of life. Yet is too lazy to do it herself.