As I lay in the dark, I hear the rain drops falling against my window. The little pitter-patter sound is relaxing and calms my anxiety. The attacks have been getting worse. I can’t bring myself to tell my mother. She is so proud of me and I would hate to disappoint her. She doesn’t need to worry about me. Telling her I am depressed and having anxiety attacks would only upset her. I will just try to go back to sleep. Maybe tomorrow will be better, but then again maybe not.

Dawn breaks through my window just as my alarm goes off. It’s time to get up I guess. I slowly get showered and dressed. School again. I walk downstairs and say hello to my mother. She is too busy talking to her boyfriend, so I walk out of the house. It takes me about 45 minutes to walk to school because I don’t want to ride the bus anymore. I am tired of all the bullying and name calling I receive. I just don’t understand why I am the one being bullied. He forced himself on me, yet I am the one being called names while he gets high-fives down the school hallways for “hooking-up” with me. I can’t wait for this day to be over.

I got home at about 4:00pm and Mom is laying on the couch passed out. She would be so disappointed in me if she knew what happened. I’m failing classes, I have no friends. Why me? I walk upstairs to my bedroom and close the door. This is it. I am going to do it tonight. I am tired of this life. I pull out a piece of paper and stare at it for a long time. All the lines perfectly printed on it. It is such a blank slate, waiting for the words to be formed on its crisp white lines. Suddenly, I realize I am crying. The tears are forming perfect little spots on my blank piece of paper. Why am I crying? This is what I want, isn’t it? Yes. Yes, it is. So I begin to write:

“I am so sorry for doing this. I hope I can be forgiven.”

I signed it and left it there on my desk for my Mother to find. Leaving the evidence of my sorrow on the small piece of paper, I walked into my bathroom that evening and I never walked back out…