Misleading- Ashton Irwin Fanfic

Chapter 4

Some people like to believe bullying is part of growing up. I for one, had the upper hand of believing opposite. I always was told to tell on someone if I was ever bullied, and I was a good liar, so I led my piers to believing I would always let them know if anything happened. Quite honestly, I like to keep secrets. I like having parts of myself no one else would ever discover. I liked how people didn't think that every solemn day I was drowning in my own sorrow, breaking to little pieces, dissolving into the thin air.

I wanted so badly to be completely open with people through thick and thin, but I learned the hard way, from personal experience. I wanted so hard to be her best friend, I spilled out all my secrets, faster than I should've. She ended up telling all the kids at school, eternally ruining the rest of my middle school memories. I look back and cry and remember how much I wish I would've just died.

However, throughout all the terrible memories I've experienced in this shirty time lapse called life, the worst one was in freshman year when I attempted suicide. I remember exactly how that month went. In the whole month, I was called a 'whore, bitch, skank, worthless, dumb ass, hoe, anorexic, slut, and hated-by-all' twice a day... I remember how many times I ran into the girls trashy ass bathroom just to cry out the tears for the day. One day, I was just done when I got a death threat from Miranda Simpson and her little clique, calling me out for being a worthless whore bag of shit. I even can recite my note repulsively quick:

Dear mom and dad, I am sorry this is happening. You don't deserve to cry. You don't deserve to have to bury your own daughter. You don't deserve to stare straight into the eyes of my dead body and whisper. I just can't take it anymore. I am slowly dying. I was dead all along, and now I'm just removing the carcus. I love you guys so much, and please don't define me as a quitter, define me as a hero, for removing a worthless bag of shit of this earth.

Dear Ian Smith, fuck you. I hope when the news leaks that my dead body was recently buried, you can feel like shit, just like I did. That 'anorexic hoe' on the bus is gone now, and she's not comin' back. I hope you know that my blood is partially in your hands. You can remember for the rest of your life that you killed my soul, and you can gladly call yourself a dick-head.

Dear Oliver James, fuck you, too. You and Ian can have your laughs right over my grave. You can fall asleep tonight with the whisper of murder dancing through your head. Bitch, I know you won't miss me, but you know who won't either? Your fake ass friends who will leave you in a snap. Hope you fuck up your life.

Dear Alex Ramon, wow. 'Friends', huh? The definition of friends is not to bully the shit out of me and laugh in my damn face just to impress your douche friends? Sometimes I like to wonder if I was actually ever your friend, or just your voodoo doll used to get a good laugh out of your friends. If you're lucky my parents invite you to my funeral, don't bother crying. Yea bitch, hold in those fake tears and smile, because I know you're happy now that I'm dead.

Dea

I couldn't finish the note. I didn't want to give up, I didn't want them to win. I later burned the note with a lighter, and buried the ashes in my soul, just incase I would need the memories later in life. It haunts me that for once, I considered tying a rope around my air passage, and jumping off a ladder. Trust me when I say this, I have not done attempts since that day, when I realized how much I almost fucked up.