broken

     Boom!

That was the last thing I heard on November 14, 2013. The last thing I saw was my mom rushing toward me as I brought the gun to my head.

Now two weeks later I lay silently in my bed at the mental institute. I wonder why it didn't work, why the bullet didn't kill me.

"Hi Zoe how are you today?"

I look over to see my therapist Kate. She's the only one I trust at this hospital, but I still have yet to talked to her about why I'm really here though.

"Good, I guess... you?"

"I'm good thank you for asking. So will you tell me why you tried committing suicide today?"

I think to myself why should I? Every person I open up to leaves me. I tell them me, the real me and they just leave.

"Zoe I need you to talk to me. I can't help if you don't."

"I don't need help", I scream. "I don't need you, I don't need to be here, I just need to be left alone!"

"Zoe....", Kate says with a sad expression.

"Just leave."

Kate got up and left. Before she went out the door she dropped a note on my desk.

"One of my past patients who came here for the same reason you did wrote this. I want you to read it."

She left. I got up and grabbed the note, it read...

to whoever is reading this I love you. It wasn't your fault it was mine. My life wasn't good and I couldn't take it any longer, I had to end it. Don't tell people I'm in a better place cause you know that's a lie. Now I'm in literal hell instead of my hell of a life.