Hi, my life may seem harsh but this is how it's planned. It's written in my head, but not written by my hands. I sat alone; alone and at home. Where my screams were silent, but my mind was violent. I took a blade and tore up my skin; where my depression lied deep within. This went on for days; months, years, until I cried my very last tears. I had decided I'd had enough; the world around me was much too tough. I took a blade to my neck, congratulations society, now I'm dead. I don't intend to complain in anyway, but being a 13 year old who doesn't fit in with the "popular group" is hard. FAN-FICTION/LIFE-BASED