100 days til' Heaven {Harry Styles}
- Reads 523
- Votes 29
- Parts 4
Ongoing20m
Last published Wed, Sep 4, 2013
When most people find out that they have terminal cancer- they'd probably be depressed. They'd probably sit around in their room all day watching Twilight while sobbing, and eating from a bucket of Rocky Road icecream.
Not me.
What was i going to do? Cry for the reminaing 100 days that I have left..?
i'm 18 years old- i'm pretty much considered a woman now and i haven't kissed a boy, i haven't been on an airplane, i haven't traveled to cities, i've never had a boyfriend, i've never gone swimming, i've never taken a long walk on the beach, i've never owned a pet- i haven't done a lot of things that most girls my age should have accomplished by now.
that sickens me.
I only have 100 days- and i have to do what i haven't done yet.
The question is, how..?
Maybe meeting a curly haired Brit at starbucks was the answer all along.
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Loneliness. Depression. Broken. Scared. Devastated. Hopeless. Mournful. Disheartening. Bleak. Joyless. Somber. I have no one. Depression and Loneliness are the only things I feel. My family tries to make me happy, but I just put on a fake smile and cry about it in my room. They act like everything is alright, but everything is not. They KNOW I was devastated about Mom's murder. They KNOW I was heartbroken about Dad's sickness that eventually killed him. That's all I've thought about. Devastation and heartbroken. Just because of those two things. Never in my life I have been this devastating. Dayton, Hayden, Angel, or Monica know how to make me truly happy. Not even my own siblings know how to make me show a real smile. Suicide is all I can think about day to day and I've almost died because of that. DEPRESSION IS A REAL THING. NO ONE KNOWS HOW I FEEL EVERYDAY. NO ONE CAN JUDGE OTHERS ABOUT DEPRESSION OR EVEN MAKE JOKES ABOUT IT BECAUSE ITS A REAL THING. DEPRESSION HAS KILLED PEOPLE. EVERYONE IN MY LIFE JUDGES ME JUST BECAUSE I DON'T SMILE, LAUGH, HUG, OR DO ANYTHING NORMAL PEOPLE DO. I CUT MYSELF, I CRY, I YELL, I VENT, I PUSH PEOPLE OUT OF MY LIFE. Those are the things people are worried about me. "Go kill yourself and join your parents in hell." They say and I just shrug it off and find a private place to hide and cry it out. "I CAN'T DEAL WITH LIFE ANYMORE!!!!" I say and I use my sharp nails and cut myself then cry some more. A gun is buried within my arm for defense from my dad, but I use it in case I am tired of society. Then that's when I met the Host Club. They saw my sadness and made me a part of it to repay my debt for accidentally breaking a vase. I am now a Host for men to flatter them, but how can normal guys want me to be a Host when I wear lip earrings, eyeliner, chains, and have a gun in my arm? I'm the definition of Hell. Then he made me smile again, something that I thought I would never get back. Happiness.
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